Markings
by NorthernTrash-x
Summary: Grimmjow/Ichigo. Grimmjow fought everything, including death, but no action is without a consequence.
1. Prologue

Grimmjow x Ichigo (eventually)

AU; in the sense that Grimmjow comes back. A little speculation, but nothing major. I've taken certain liberties with how he could return. Eventual M-rating.

**Prologue**

The white sands of Hueco Mundo shifted underneath the heavy tread of his feet, and the walker let out a guttural groan as he had to push harder and harder to force his way up the bank of a steep dune. The sand had edged its way into him, as it always does, and he felt like the first layer of his skin had been scraped right off him by a brutal and uncaring barrage of sandpaper. There was something raw about his wounds, and he felt terrifyingly weak, and he could taste the desert in his mouth, parched. His tongue flickered out to wet his lips, but it was a futile effort, and was met with the taste of more sand.

He reached the top the dune he was currently battling- _battle?_ Through the haze of pain, he was sure that there had been a battle. Wasn't that all the power he could feel around him, power that was not his own? He shook his head, staring around him, and all he could see was more of the same, stretching out towards the horizon.

No battle, no buildings, no people.

Exactly what he wanted.

The moon was glowing above him, looking bloated and obscene in the dark sky. Nothing to comment upon, though- if you lived in Hueco Mundo, you did not comment on the presence of night time. It cast a silvery light across the barren land, illuminating his hands as he checked them. They had been pressed against his chest for the last few hours, ignoring the ache in his arms, which were screaming to be moved. They had felt the ridges of his skin, torn apart, and he had been struggling to keep the frayed edges of his flesh together; a desperate attempt at healing.

His hands were wet, but under the near-unnatural bright light, the blood did not look red.

He pressed his hands briefly to his mouth: liquid, sustenance, _beautiful _(if the Arrancar had any understanding what beauty was).

He propped himself against the trunk of a shrivelled looking tree, not caring that his blood was staining the quartz, and refused to slump to the ground. His mind became a little clearer as he stilled, and the pain lifted just a bit. He knew that the only reason that he had not been set upon by hollows up to now was that most of them were cowering in fear at the immense amount of spiritual pressure coming from Las Noches. The battles were still raging on, but the further away he pushed himself, he better he could hide.

Unfortunately, the further away he was the less cautious the hollows became. A small, rat-like creature crept towards him from where it had been hidden in the shadow cast by a boulder. He unsheathed his blade, and stabbed it through the hollow's mask, disintegrating it in seconds. Propelling himself with an inelegant movement of limbs he took the hollow's place, leaning against the rock which would provide him with a little more protection than the tree. He let his head fall forwards, to his chest.

He coughed, hacking, and spat blood. It seeped into the white sand, leaving dark stains against the ground.

He could feel the power seeping out of him with each drop of blood, and as he closed his eyes he gripped the hilt at his hip in a tightly closed fist. He had a feeling that he would not be able to do even that, soon enough. He fell to his knees, and then to the ground, pulling his legs up against him, pressing them against his wounds.

He was sinking, sinking back into darkness, and it felt a little like he was falling.

Things did not make sense.

He spent a while- _how long? how much time was passing?-_ underneath the unchanging moon it was hard to tell- curled up in the shadow of the rock, listening to the sounds of power echoing over the sand from Las Noches. He listened to Ulquiorra fight, and then the bastard cero Espada- _and who knew the bastard would be so strong? _Kurosaki was there too, although it took him a moment to remember why such emotion rose up in the back of his throat like bile when the name floated across the boundless stretches of his mind. When they both fell, he was left to feel the shaking reverberations from the battles going on elsewhere in the human world, ones that rocked the very foundations of Hueco Mundo, because this battle would decide the fate of it, and the world itself could tell.

When even that dissipated, in a great blast of spiritual pressure that made the sand dance in front of his wavering vision, he closed his eyes.

It was over.

The shinigami had won.

At that, the creature curled up in the sand let out a howl, his muscles contorting and contracting as the last of his power seeped out of him, and he reverted. He could feel his spine lengthening, his skull expanding and his limbs changing, and soon his howls were no longer of rage, but of pain, instead.

A few days later, an Adjuchas-class Menos pulled itself to his feet in the shadows of the boulder. The Menos hungered. Curious hollows that had gathered around him scurried away as he growled, lips curling to reveal clenched teeth, sharp and white. His hooded eyes stared out across the sand, trying to readjust itself to his old body, to having to walk on four legs again. His tail brushed against the back of his legs, and his fur bristled, muscles clenching.

Soon, there were no hollows left nearby, and the Menos was stated. He fell back to his haunches, and licked the lingering wounds that lacerated his body, although most were healed. Only remnants of the deepest ones were left, and underneath the fur, the scars would not show.

He remembered when he had first generated into a Vasto Lorde- no scar at all had been left that time.

Was this the fate of the Arrancar who lost too much power? Would they revert back into something less substantial than what they had been? And if that was the case, then what would happen to Ichigo, with his scent that was Arrancar but with more Shinigami, and that lacerating hint of human mixed in.

And how long would it take him to be Vasto Lorde again? The same agonising stretch of years, decades, centuries… or would his body remember how to do it?

The creature stalked the sands of Hueco Mundo for days after that, until time became irrelevant and each dead hollow he consumed blurred into the next. He felt somewhat lost in this world now: his was disenchanted with these sands. Was there anything for him, here? He could eat, he could live, but he was not sure if that was enough. He cursed Aizen- in creating him as an Arrancar, in developing his mind, he had made his own, old life seem entirely futile.

He needed to be a Vasto Lorde again, but he did not want to change here. He no longer wanted to stay in this place, a beast under the moonlight.

So, when he saw the tail of another Menos disappear between rips in the air, he ran towards it, legs blurring as he kicked up sand behind him. He jumped through just as it was closing, and ignored the shinigami battling with the two that had come through before him. He remembered, somewhere in the back of his mind, how to suppress his power, and he was glad, knowing that that meant he was getting stronger again, and that the powers of his previous life still lingered with him.

He slipped away, unnoticed, as reinforcements came.

In this human world he padded through the trees of an unknown forest. He could smell humans in the distance, the undeniable cloud of engines and carbon and filth.

There were other things too, familiar things, and in a moment he knew exactly where he had arrived.

Karakura, huh?

Padding towards the humans he tasted the air, and the beast let a snarl that was almost a smile curl over his jaw.

Grimmjow was _back._

_TBC_

* * *

I'd love some feedback on this. There will be more chapters, if there is enough interest.

Thanks for reading. NT-x


	2. Chaper One

**Chapter One**

Ichigo Kurosaki no longer woke up in the night in pain- his wounds from the Winter War had healed over, with some help from the Fourth Division of the Gotei 13, although sometimes he still got out of bed in the morning with aches deep in his muscles. Apparently he had pressed himself too far, and the deep tissue damage would take a while before it was back to normal.

They'd offered to fix him right up, but he had declined the offer. He still was not quite sure why, but he knew that this way made him feel more human.

Unfortunately, he still had to work. He could not go back to a normal life, to being a normal boy, not yet. Perhaps never. Since the fall of Las Noches, the hollows in Hueco Mundo were coming through in droves, and it had been left to those on the ground to protect places at high risk, like Karakura, from soul-hungry hollows searching for their next meal.

Speculation had been made that the hollows had been existing off the backlashes of spiritual power coming from Las Noches, and now it was gone they were starving. Ichigo didn't really care about the reasons, just thanked providence that Karakura had been left to himself, Ishida and Chad- he did not think he could cope with more shinigami crowding the place out, watching him with that wide-eyed distraction that they had, the ones who only knew him through reputation.

Some days, he thought that little had changed. Although Urahara had been pardoned, he had turned down the offer to return to the Soul Society. It was not, of course, an offer of Captaincy, and Urahara had laughed at the stiff, uncomfortable shinigami who had delivered the message. What would be in it for him?

No decision had been reached on the Vizards, and they were not expecting one. The powers that be refused them pardon back into the Soul Society, but there was far too much opposition from those who had fought alongside them to have them executed.

They had slowly begun to leave their hideaway, even Karakura, now there was no reason for them to stay hidden. The shinigami knew where they were, and they were too dilapidated in numbers to try and take the Vizards out, so there was no reason to keep quiet and in the shadows. They were free in the true sense of the word now- they owed nothing to anyone. There was no link between them and the Soul Society, to whom they owed no allegiance, and nothing to link them with the ruins in Hueco Mundo, either.

They still showed up sometimes to talk to Ichigo, to catch up, but there was no driving force behind them now, and they had little reason to stay.

Likewise, the shinigami who he had come to call his friends were often absent too, because the Soul Society barely had enough shinigami to go around, and could not afford to let them slip away on leave. Renji, Ichigo knew, spent most of his time arguing about why he should not be promoted to Captain simply because he had bankai, and Rukia spent whole days with her brother, hearing story after story about her departed sister from Byakuya, who had finally broken his reverent silence. The last time Ichigo had seen her, the day he left Soul Society, she had turned to him with a smile so bright that it had nearly hurt to look at. She was happy again, and he was glad of that.

He still had his human friends, of course, still had Chad and Ishida and Orihime, and his family were as rampantly there as always, but he sometimes could not help but feel a little… alone.

Not lonely- he did not miss anyone. Just alone, like he had lost something, but could not quite put his finger on what.

A little displaced, too. He remembered one time, his father had decided to take them on a walk into mountains, and it had fallen to Ichigo- inevitably- to carry the bag fall of food and water and a thousand other things that they did not need to the mountain top. When they got there, Ichigo threw down the bag, and suddenly felt so light that he was sure that he was floating.

It felt like that now. All the burdens he had had been taken off him, and all of a sudden, he felt strange. He could not remember what it was like to be so carefree: he was not sure if he liked it. His wounds would heal, his scars would fade, but there was something irreplaceable inside of himself that had been damaged, and he could not even begin to understand where to start in fixing it. He had lost his anchor, and was adrift, and this was not like a battle- he could not call on spiritual pressure and Zangetsu and his hollow and expect to fight his way to the end.

He was way out of his depth.

He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand as he stood on a rooftop, overlooking Karakura. It was his shift, and he was tired. There were no screaming hollows stalking the streets, and he knew that he would never see another Espada here again. Strangely, that was not a reliving thought.

He missed the action, and he never thought that he would say that.

The old man, from the recesses of his blade and mind, warned him that that was just the hollow inside of him talking. Apparently he had been skulking around a lot recently, waiting for something to entertain him.

_Wha'd'ya think, King? Left us high and dry in here, nothin' to do._

He'd been staring at the streetlights, lost in thought, but suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes he caught a flash of white. He spun on his heel, cursing himself for being distracted, just in time to see it disappear behind a building. It was big, and moving with too much grace to be a car. He followed swiftly, his eyes narrowed, but when he got there the street was empty.

He kept on running, losing himself in the industrial estate. The ground was slick with oil and mud, and the reek of large pieces of machinery pervaded the air. As he rounded a corner, he skidded to an abrupt stop, ducking to his knees in a defensive posture. He balanced himself with one hand on the ground, fingertips but not his palm keeping him steady. There was a crow of joy from inside his head.

In front of him a rift was closing, and a huge Menos was ripping apart the hollow that had just crawled its way through. In a second, the creature was gone, and the air stilled.

_The fuck d'you think that is, King?_

The creature turned towards Ichigo, its cat-like skull watching him carefully. It was huge, and Ichigo could see the tensed muscles and the power in that stance. If the creature were to turn on him now, with the speed that Ichigo was sure its pounce would have, he was not sure if he would reach Zangetsu in time.

But the creature- and it was cat-like, Ichigo realised: like some kind of large, wild cat- showed no sign of movement. It simply watched him, eyes narrowed, waiting.

One of Ichigo's hands was ready to pull his blade off his back, and the two of them were still. Slowly, Ichigo put both hands on the floor, resting on all of his fingertips.

He was tired of death.

_Give some blood, King! Remember ya poor servants, stuck in here!_

He shook his head.

They broke out of their trance as the scream of a hollow was heard a few streets away, and both of their heads snapped in the direction. In a second the creature was away, Ichigo on its heels. They rounded a corner, and the cat pounced, pulling the hollow to the ground and burying its head in the grey flesh of the hollow's neck.

Another moment, it was gone, pulling the hollow with it.

Ichigo raised his eyes to the sky, meeting the surprised eyes of his Quincy comrade.

"Kurosaki, what the hell was that?"

"What are you doing here, Ishida? It's not your night."

The Quincy leapt to the ground, landing gracefully without smearing his white uniform. Ichigo had always been a little bit envious that Ishida could do that.

"Couldn't sleep. What _was_ that?"

Ichigo scratched his head.

"A Menos. Didn't attack me, though. Just the hollow."

"We need to catch it."

"Do we?"

Ishida turned, and to his surprise Ichigo's eyes were closed.

"Let's leave it for tonight. I don't think it'll attack anyone."

The Quincy shook his head.

"Are you being intentionally idiotic? What evidence do you have of that?"

"A feeling."

"You're basing this on a _feeling_?"

Ichigo opened his eyes, and turned his steely gaze onto his ally.

"I've spent the last year working on instinct."

"You know, if you're wrong, this is your responsibility?"

"I know."

Ishida sighed, and with a few final words to Ichigo, left. That did not ease his worry, however, as he moved back towards his home. Something had not felt quite right about that creature, and it had something to do with its calm movements, as if it was not at all surprised by his presence. His bow hummed in his hand, and he sighed. There was nothing more to be done now- after all, the world owed Kurosaki a whim or two.

Well, probably more than that.

For the next few days, Ichigo found himself strangely uplifted. There was something about the creature that had inspired him, something that reminded him of what it had been like before the world had stilled. He saw it again and again, every night- soon he began sneaking out on nights that were not his to monitor in order to see it. He watched from a distance, and only partly because a little part of himself doubted his own decision. But, night after night, all the creature did was attack and devour hollows, with increasing grace and speed.

Soon, their work load was cut right down, and Ichigo was only partly sure that it was because the creature was taking away the hollows. He was convinced that less of them were coming through now, as if the Menos had marked his territory in Karakura, and now fewer hollows risked breaking through.

It got to the point where Orihime congratulated them on it, smiling happily and thanking them for their hard work, saying that she had not been woken up in days by the cries of a hollow. Chad had frowned, surely thinking something along the same lines as Ichigo, although he had not been quick enough to see the Menos yet.

Ishida said nothing, only regarded Ichigo with cool, contemplative eyes. Ichigo did not want to turn to meet that stare- he was sure it would be him to break the gaze that he knew well, that often, when he was watching the beast, was watching _him._

He did not entirely know what he was doing, spending night after night observing the Menos, and although he knew he could simply say he was keeping an eye on its behaviour, he knew that it was more than that, because he should simply have destroyed it from the beginning. He watched the creature with admiration, staring at the grace of its muscles and the beauty of its shape.

He was convinced, utterly convinced, that there was something he recognised in the way it moved, in the way that it killed, but he could not put his finger on it.

All he could do was stare, and think, and he knew that the Quincy did not approve.

"Ichigo? Did you hear me?"

He turned back to Orihime, who had still been talking. She was blushing a little at his stare, biting her lip.

He shook his head, frowning.

"The link between here and the Soul Society is still set up at my house, and they want to talk to the three of you tonight. Just to check in, and make sure that it is going okay."

He nodded.

"I'll be there."

And he knew that he would, would probably be there early, because he was sure that whichever Captain was due was going to ask him about the Menos, and probably tell him something useful, something that might help him understand it. These were the thoughts shrouding his mind as he walked to Orihime's apartment, hands in his pockets, staring at the sky.

He let Ishida do most of the talking. Although he was technically the only Shinigami here, the Quincy had always been better at dealing in diplomacy, and Chad rarely- if ever- offered words, so they did not press them. Orihime stayed quiet most of the time too, in the face of Shinigami superiors. She bore them no ill will, but was a little nervous. After the war, they had summoned Chad and Orihime in both for testing, to see what exactly they were. Ichigo had not been worried- like the Vizard, there would be far too much opposition to an execution order. He himself had refused tests, as had Ishida, who had said through clenched jaw that they had more than enough experimentation evidence on the Quincy in their archives. Ichigo swore that the freak from the Twelfth Division had looked _disappointed_ by the refusal.

"And one final thing."

Ichigo stared at the screen for the first time in the address.

"We have some evidence in spiritual pressure patterns that there is Adjuchas-class Menos in Karakura."

"Adjuchas?"

Captain Ukitake nodded, a slight smile not fully disguising his concern.

"As far as we can tell, it is the step of Menos below a Vasto Lorde. We don't know how they evolve, but if it does, this could be a potentially dangerous situation."

There was a pause, and all of them noticed the look that Uryuu gave Ichigo.

"We need to know… why haven't you killed it yet?"

Ichigo did not respond, and Uryuu's eyes were drawn to the wall above the screen. Orihime was looking at the two of them with concern and confusion.

"Captain Ukitake."

The Captain, who, on the two-way screen had been watching the Quincy and Shinigami, did not expect to be addressed by the fourth member of the rag-tag Karakura defensive, the one remembered for his silence and stoicism.

"I have felt the presence of something strong in Karakura, but as of yet, it has done nothing to us, and I get the impression that it does not intend to do so."

Ukitake smiled as Ichigo shot a look to the side.

"Are the three of you willing to take responsibility if it does? If it attacks a human, or it-"

"Yes."

Ichigo had gotten to his feet, glaring ahead.

"If anything goes wrong, I shall be culpable for punishment. I don't speak for the other three, but I'll keep it in check."

Chad nodded, slowly.

"I, too."

Uryuu sighed.

"Although it seems a foolish thing to do, I believe that I shall agree."

He turned to Ichigo, ignoring the dismayed look that crossed Orihime's face and the worry on that of the Captain, even ignoring the look of consternation that Chad wore.

"Kurosaki."

The shinigami turned to him, eyes narrowed and understanding.

"Don't make me regret this."

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter Two

I'm sorry for the slow pace that I am taking on this, I just couldn't stand another one of those 'everything happens in the first five minutes' fics. feedback/crit would be more than welcome. Thanks to eveyone who has reviewed and alerted this so far.

**Chapter Two**

Grimmjow was lying curled up, hunger gnawing his insides. He had found an abandoned warehouse, near falling apart in places, and marked out one room as his place to sleep. He curled up there during the day, only venturing out in the night. Even though most of the humans could not see him, those who were spiritually aware would, and it was a risk to run around in the light. Besides that, he was not used to such bright sunlight, and his narrow eyes had not properly adjusted. It made him ache, and that was distracting.

He felt limber again, and free in this form, with little care. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop in search of hollows each night, devouring those that he came across. He was not so much tempted by the humans that he saw, as much as he was disgusted: he did not consume them simply because he had no wish to do so, to mar himself with such impurity.

He sneered at the thought that some would view this as pity, or respect, because it was neither. They just reminded him too much of those damn shinigami, particularly that one whose presence he felt most, the one who followed him most nights, who had human mixed in with the sprawl that was his scent.

Once, this life would not have been enough for him, and in all honesty, it still felt like something was missing. He did not have any inclination as to where he was aiming, to what he was doing, but for know, it would be fine as a stop gap, before he made any decisions.

The only thought that made his new existence any less than perfect was the appearance of Ichigo Kurosaki.

He had crouched before him that day, with a look of hesitance in his eyes. Did Ichigo recognise him? He did not think that the boy had, but why else would he have spared his life? Why else would he let a Menos roam freely?

But then, if he had known that it was he, why _would_ he have spared his life? He and the shinigami had been adversaries since the moment they had met. Grimmjow was sure that if Ichigo, or any of the shinigami, had known that he was still alive, then he would have been hunted down and killed whilst he was still recovering, because he was a damn sight easier to take out in this form.

So what, then? What was Ichigo doing?

And why was he so blatantly unable to simply put him it the back of his mind?

Every night since then he would see the boy who he had once fought against with such rage watching him from the rooftops, watching his every movement. His eyes were cold, as they had always been, brown and narrowed, but his face was not drawn tight in anger, and his hands never strayed to the hilt of his zanpakuto. Grimmjow did not understand, but the sight of him, standing there in the streetlights of the town, made him wonder if he was going mad. This whole situation was surreal.

He uncurled himself as he saw the shadows of night creep in through the glassless window, and made his way into the streets of Karakura. And it was on this night, nearly three weeks after he arrived and first saw the shinigami again, that it was he who watched Ichigo kill a hollow.

He prowled around a corner, to see a mask being sliced in two with the sharp edge of a blade that he knew all too well, that actually made something in his chest ache, at the memory of a death that did not quite come about. The shinigami was barely breathing harder than normal, and held his zanpakuto in one hand, casually. He caught sight of the Menos as he slung over his shoulder, onto his back, and nodded his head in a greeting.

"Did I take your kill, Hollow?"

Grimmjow felt himself snarling, almost offended that Ichigo did not remember who he was. He took a step closer, watching the boy.

In his defence, Ichigo did not falter. He watched the creature approach with lighted eyes, dropping to his knees so they could stare eye to eye, on a level as equals. Grimmjow watched the material of his uniform fall in folds around his body, soaking in the rainwater that lingered in puddles, and the way that his fists clenched, although he did not think it was in anger. And his eyes… those eyes. There was something there that he recognised, but at the same time, confused him entirely.

They were close now, Ichigo still on his knees in the dirt of the street and the Menos on all fours, prowling forward slowly. His snarl had long since dissipated, and he felt himself strangely drawn to this shinigami, enemy though he was. There was something about him that did not smell quite… human.

It was almost comforting.

The smell of hollow, lingering on the skin of human.

Like something united.

Compelling.

Ichigo's fists had unclenched, and he was reaching for the broad head of the Menos. He cradled it between his palms, stroking the short, coarse fur with his fingertips. A growl built up in Grimmjow's throat, deep and powerful, but it was not one of antagonism. He watched Ichigo, eyes half-lidded and mouth almost-smiling. He looked, in an unaccountably strange way, almost at peace with the feeling of fur and cold water against his skin.

Their faces were close, almost touching. Ichigo could feel its breath, hot and damp on his face, but to his surprise it smelt of nothing. He had thought it would be fetid, like one would imagine a wild cat's to be, full with the lingering odour of rotten flesh. Instead, it smelt of cool air, despite its humid warmth, which soon faded to nothing. But then it was not like this cat ate flesh, was it? It devoured only spiritual power.

His hands moved up to gently pull the Menos' ears back. They were much softer than the fur on his face, almost silky. His fingers ran over the edge of the shell-coloured inner ear, before falling back to its muzzle again.

Ichigo's voice was quieter than either of them expected them to be, almost a hoarse whisper, as if the small space between them warranted a lowered voice.

"Menos?"

There was a pause, after the expectant question, and Ichigo sighed, feeling something like a fool. The fur bristled underneath his fingers, short and sharp. Was he really waiting for this creature to answer him? There was no way, of course, that it would.

"Why are you so familiar?"

His own hollow was screeching with laughter in his head, as it had done since Ichigo had first thought that he recognised the hollow, although every time he pushed him the bastard had just laughed harder.

_You don't know, King? Then I ain't gonna tell ya._

Ichigo was watching the Menos with expectation, hoping for a reaction, but nothing came. Not even a flicker within the eyes, of surprise or hesitation. Nothing to suggest that it had even understood the words spoke to him, although Ichigo would assume that he could, since he had conversed with hollows before. He sighed again; there was nothing forthcoming, it would appear.

"I'm not planning on turning you in."

The creature's eyes did widen then, to Ichigo's gratification, and he could see markings around them as he moved slightly, into the light a little more. He'd never been close enough to notice them before now, and there was something startling about them, something that plagued on the back of his mind, like a memory lost. They were teal, and jagged.

"Just keep out of sight, okay? If you attack any humans, or make yourself obvious, then I'll have to kill you."

The creature nodded; it understood. Ichigo himself, on the other hand, did not quite understand, but he was unsurprised by this admission. There was something human about his eyes, more human that he had ever seen in any other hollow. But then, it was not human, was it? It was awareness, it was knowledge, and somewhere in there, too, he was sure that there was emotion. Ichigo got to his feet, his hands sliding away from the Menos' muzzle as he did so, falling to his sides.

"And I really don't want to do that."

He turned, as if to leave, and felt the creature's nose bump into his hand, nuzzling the palm.

"Do you really not remember me, Kurosaki?"

The voice was rough and guttural, and as the creature spoke the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stood on end.

He turned, but the Menos had gone, vanished, as if he were smoke.

* * *

Ichigo rested his head on his fist, and stared out of the window. School had reverted back into the chore that it had always been, rather than a nice distraction from the labour of his shinigami training for the War. Now, he had to suffer the horrors of mathematics again, and worst of all, had to suffer whilst being totally and terribly distracted.

He had never met the cat-like Menos before, he was sure of it, sure that he would have remembered it.

He didn't get a chance to speak to Ishida until the end of the day, because he was drawn away during their lunch as he felt the spiritual pressure of a hollow rip through the air. He looked all around him as he approached it, and lingered afterwards, but he did not catch sight of the creature he was looking for at all. He had asked Chad, but his friend simply shook his head and shrugged, obviously confused, so he waited until the sewing club had ended and he could talk to the Quincy alone, where no one could overhear and ask them awkward questions- and enough had been raised in gym class at the sight of the scars.

He drew them into an empty classroom, where they could not be overheard. An act of paranoia, perhaps- it wasn't like there was another shinigami around, right?- but he felt strangely protective of their secret friend.

The sun was sinking in the sky, and the light flooding into the room was tinged with the orange and red that burnt out on the horizon, casting long shadows through the room. Ishida looked unperturbed by the request for his company, almost as if he had been waiting for it.

"I need to ask you a question, Ishida."

"What about?"

"That Menos-"

The Quincy's voice was short, and sharp.

"What about it?"

"Do we know it?"

An uncharacteristic look of concern crossed Ishida's face, and he pushed his glasses up his nose, biting his lip as he did so. This was so unlike the normally stoic Quincy that Ichigo felt anxiety bite through his own abdomen- apparently he was not the only one who was unnerved. That was reassuring, and at the same time, even more worrying.

"I don't know."

Ichigo rubbed his cheek with his fist.

"But he seems familiar?"

Ishida nodded.

"He spoke to me last night."

"What?"

Ichigo sighed, and settled himself onto a desk, his legs on the chair, knees bent.

"He asked me if I remembered him. And I don't."

Ishida sighed.

"Do you trust it?"

Ichigo did not need to ask for clarification, and he did not need to think on the answer to that question.

"No. I don't trust it, at all. It reminds me of someone that I should avoid."

And that was true, irritatingly so. The Quincy raised an eyebrow, obviously trying not to smile, despite the seriousness of the situation and the worry evident on Ichigo's face. The shinigami got to his feet, rubbing his hair into spikes with his palm.

"It doesn't matter though. As much as I don't want to go near it, I-"

"Keep going back."

Ichigo smiled ruefully, just a brief turn up of his mouth.

"Yeah."

The Quincy was watching him with worry in his eyes as they parted at the school gate, and there was obviously something on his mind, something prying him. He spoke the shinigami's name quietly, concern straining his voice.

"Just be careful, Kurosaki. It gives me a bad feeling, you know? Try and keep away from it, if you can."

Ichigo nodded; Ishida sighed, knowing that his words were pointless. He stayed where he was for a moment, watching Ichigo until he walked out of sight, before making his own way home.

* * *

Ichigo rolled his eyes at his father as he shouldered his way through the front door, and ducked out of the way of a wayward kick. Karin smashed his fist over their foolish father's head, knocking him to the ground with a thump. He declined dinner, despite Yuzu's wide-eyed worry, and avoided interrogation from his father about what was wrong. He promised them he would eat when he was hungry, but it took him nearly ten minutes to convince them to let him go upstairs.

He moved sluggishly up the stairwell, not bothering to turn the light on in the upstairs corridor. As he showered, a sudden wave of apathy and exhaustion made him lean against the tiled wall, letting the hot water run down his body, almost burning.

It trailed down his chest and back like invisible hands, making him shudder. He was half-asleep in the water, and the strange lingering feeling of dreams was taking over him, making him numb. In the back of his mind, he could see eyes watching him. Sometimes they were the eyes of the bestial creature that lingering in his town; other times they were similar, but more pronounced, less animal, familiar.

The hands that he dreamed, tracing the lines of water, were human.

The laughter in his head was mocking.

He blinked, suddenly, getting the water out of his eyes. He came back to focus, slipping out of his dream just as easily has he had slipped into it, as he fell into it every time he closed his eyes. That laughter- the ringing of a memory, not the sharpness of the hollow in his mind whose voice he knew as well as his own.

Every night since the end of the Winter War, he had heard that voice in his head, and felt those hands on his body, and watched those eyes staring into his, and he felt like he was no closer to understanding who that person was as he was able to find out what he had felt that he had been missing.

He threw himself out of the bathroom in big towel, wrapped around his hips and falling to his knees, and trudged into his room. He left the light off in there too, and fell into sitting on his bed, rubbing his wet hair with his bare hands in an attempt to dry it off. He still didn't have an answer, but… but...

The blue of those markings.

The spark of recognition in those eyes.

The ghost hands running up and down his body.

And an all-encompassing, undeniable desire to go to Las Noches, to see what remained.

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter Three

Thanks to everyone who has overwhelmed me with reviews, and I don't have the time to thank all of you individually, but it really means a lot. In particular though, I would like to extend my thanks to FloofWolfe, dishrag-chan and Cici000, whose comments really made my day.

Part of me hates this chapter, but it felt... necessary, somehow, even though I suppose most of it isn't. Regardless, onwards.

**Chapter Three **

The weekend came, and the ache of curiosity still had not faded, the dream-like memory of Las Noches still beckoning him from the recesses of his over-worked mind. It took him until the Saturday morning to decide to act upon it, although he had been lecturing himself that he should not, that he should just let things be. Luckily, it was also a weekend of respite from his duties all around. He had little work to do (for once, providence had listened to his prayers about homework), Chad and Ishida had the shifts until Sunday night, and Orihime had gone away to visit distant relatives. It wasn't like he thought of Orihime as work, as such, but she liked to have them around her, and trying to eat her food was more of a labour than fighting hollows.

He had already ducked out of an offer for training from Urahara, and made sure that no shinigami was due a visit. However, he did drop by quickly to the Shoten, to leave a request with the shop-keeper, one that was met with a nod and some understanding in his half-shadowed eyes that was both gratifying and infuriating to Ichigo.

He left Kon with his body and a clear warning about not doing anything that would embarrass him, and with an empty schedule in front of him, he set out to try and find the Menos that plagued his thoughts.

He felt more grounded with the weight of Zangetsu on his back, but still slightly distracted. He'd tried to talk to both of them; the hollow and the old man, and both of them had shaken their spiritual heads at him. They knew something, he was sure, but were refusing to tell him. He supposed it was only natural for them to know what his subconscious remembered but he did not- after all, they were an extension of his own mind and being- but their assurance that he should work it out for himself left him entirely irritated.

_What is it? What is it that I can't remember?_

_You need to discover it out for yourself, Ichigo._

_Yeah, King. Where the hell would you be if we did everything for you?_

He bared his teeth in annoyance at the two of them, but more so at himself, for failing to come to any conclusions. Today, for once, the hollow was quite silent, not mocking him with laughter, although he had been acting up more than often recently, he suspected out of boredom. He rather supposed that the old man had something to do with that, but he couldn't be sure. The hollow, after all, was a law unto himself.

He could feel the presence of the hollow on the air when he focused, his skills still not as great as some but more refined with recent practise. There were many strands, leading out in different directions, some far more faded than others. He took one of the stronger, fresher ones and followed it, but it lead only to a non-descript street in the industrial side of town. He stood there for a while, trying to work out why this, as well, felt familiar, before he realised that this was where the Menos had spoken to him. So, it too had dwelt upon it, and had returned to that very same place? Or else, had there been a more recent hollow that his cat-like acquaintance had devoured? He suspected that the latter was the much more likely of the two.

Not too far away, Grimmjow stirred from a restless sleep, woken by the closeness of Ichigo's heavy cloak of spiritual pressure. He growled a little as he felt it approaching, and clung tighter to his own presence, wrapping it around himself to try and hide it, something which was rapidly becoming less and less difficult. He was becoming used to his powers, which were growing.

It helped, of course, that Ichigo was not properly focused, and that he had never been particularly good at the more subtle aspect of his powers.

_Not yet, not yet, just give me a little more power, a little more time. Don't notice me now, not now, not yet..._

A growl radiated from the depths of Grimmjow's throat as Ichigo continued to grow closer. Deep and resonating, it faded only as Ichigo flitted past, changing direction a few streets away.

Dark was beginning to fall by the time Ichigo gave in on his search, annoyed beyond belief. He had missed something, he was sure, but he couldn't focus enough to search it out properly. Urahara met him in the doorway to his shop and lead him down the stairs, not bothering to seal the training grounds behind him. He had taken to doing that recently, saying that since he wasn't on the Gotei Most Wanted list any more, he liked to remind them where he was. Ichigo was only a little sure that it wasn't a joke.

It was hard to tell, behind the hat.

There was a large Gargantua open and ready for him, and he stepped towards it, towards the black gash. He was halted in his final steps by the offering of a small circular object, surprisingly heavy for its size, at the end of a cord.

"This'll rip you a hole back through, when you're done. But it'll only work once, so don't go jumping back and forward."

Ichigo nodded his thanks, and slipped it around his neck.

"Say, Ichigo, what are you doing about this pretty little kitty-cat you've taken in?"

Ichigo started.

"What?"

Urahara snapped his fan up to cover his face, and Ichigo resisted the urge to snatch and break it.

"Oh, that nice little Menos. Going to keep it as a pet?"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, supposing that he shouldn't be surprised that Urahara knew. He was a shinigami too, wasn't he? A Captain-class one, at that, and one well used to scanning Karakura for the threat of hollow and shinigami foe alike.

"Shut up, would ya."

The hat lowered slightly.

"It's close to development, you know?"

"What?"

"Oh, yes. A little while longer, and I wouldn't be surprised if we had a brand new Vasto Lorde wandering around Karakura. Won't that be nice?"

Ichigo's eyes widened, but before he could say anything else Urahara pushed him into the rend in the air, through to Hueco Mundo.

* * *

He would have liked to have said that it was vastly different to what he remembered, but as he landed face-down in the sand, all he could think was that the sand tasted the same. He sat up, looking around. He was very close to Las Noches, and raised his eyebrows. Couldn't Urahara have put them this close the first time he came through?

Ichigo did not look at the ruins as he stepped through them, not yet willing to remind himself of the fights _(of the rage, blood, masks, pain, death)_ that he still, sometimes, had nightmares about. He jumped from chunk to chunk of white masonry which still managed to look, despite its ruination, as if it should always have been this way: as if it was some strange piece of modern art, resting on the sand, not at all out of place; as much a part of Hueco Mundo as the sand.

_Shut up with this shit, King, and get your ass in gear._

The hollow sounded vaguely disturbed, but Ichigo did not have the time to question it further, nor the inclination to do so. He could sense no one around, not for miles- not even a meagre hollow, lurking in a hold beneath the surface. It was oddly quiet, oddly still.

He skirted a pillar that still had the distinctive arc-shaped burn of his own attack, and moved on.

He passed the place where Ulquiorra had fallen. On the marble-white of the cracked floor, as if scorched there, was the shape of a number four, in black, wavering lines. He had no idea how it had been formed, by what power or hand, and did not wish to understand.

Ichigo shuddered, and pressed on.

Las Noches had seemed endless at the time, but he was now forced to consider the possibility that a lot of it had been illusion, for it took him far less time than he had thought it was to cross over to the other side. He followed instinct to get there, until he found the place where white sand had been stained with a similar figure; but, the number five instead of four. He shifted the sand with his foot, but it made no difference. It turned white again as soon as it was outside the shape, almost as if something was casting a shadow onto the ground. He glanced up, feeling stupid, just to be sure.

There was no number six, he noticed, although he remembered Nnoitra cutting him down. He supposed he must have crawled off somewhere, and died there- knowing the Sexta, probably following the spill of energy from Ichigo and Ulquiorra's fight, to try and beat them both and prove that he was the strongest. Ichigo probably passed right over where his body must have fallen, where the ground itself wanted to remember the passing of the creatures that, once, had been Hueco Mundo's strongest and most naive of children.

It surprised him that he felt grief for Grimmjow's passing. He had known, of course, that he had died, but supposed he had never dwelt on it before now. Nothing could have survived that last blow from the Fifth, but he… well, he hadn't deserved to die that way, stabbed in the back.

The Espada had been a bastard, and would have killed Ichigo if he had had half a chance, but he should have gone down in battle. He should have-

Ichigo rubbed a fist to his eye, surprised to find them slightly damp. Why was he mourning the loss of one of his greater enemies?

Grimmjow, though, had been a different sort of enemy to all of the rest.

There had been fights like those with Kenpachi, or the Vizards. That had been all to do with strength, and not quite being able to get out of the way in time Byakuya, and those others he had stood against in the Soul Society- he had fought there to prove a point, to rescue someone who he had sworn to save, and that had been the reason behind his first battles here, too. Ulquiorra he had killed because he was a necessary defeat to get to Aizen, and the battle at Fake Karakura had been to win the war.

Grimmjow? Pride, he supposed. Protection of those close to him. Practise, or so Aizen had claimed, for his inner hollow.

But really, he had _enjoyed_ fighting Grimmjow.

Sure, it hurt like hell and had taken way too much out of him, but there had been something raw there that he had taken for anger, and now was not sure if it had been. There had been something captivating about the way he had moved when he had released in that final fight, something about the way he laughed when he thought that he was winning that had made emotion well up in a furious wave from somewhere inside of Ichigo's chest, from a chasm that was far deeper than he had suspected.

Grimmjow was… Grimmjow had been…

Different.

He walked towards a tree close by, and rested a hand against it. It was solid quartz, smooth, but reflecting no light. He leant his weight against it, and stared at the mass that had once been Aizen's fortress. Sand had already started to blow into it, he noticed, before he closed his eyes to the sight of it.

Blue markings around eyes that were animal, man, animal, man.

Hands against his sides, his back, grazing his cheeks.

Around his throat.

His name, guttural, lust and rage.

Eyes looking at him, looking and _seeing_.

_Now you're getting it, King._

A flash of white, of steel, of bone, of blue.

Howling.

His eyes snapped back open, staring down at the sand underneath his feet that was shifting, ever so slightly, as if it was waiting for him to do something. He glanced once more at the place where the five was marked, and pulled the cord from around his neck.

He ripped a hole back into Karakura, and stepped back to normality.

He was on the outskirts of town, and he hovered in the air for a moment as he watched the hole close. Within moments Urahara was with him, taking back his creation from Ichigo's pliant hands with careful attention and a teasing tone of voice that quite expertly hid his own unease- Kisuke was not entirely certain why Ichigo wanted to visit Las Noches, despite his appearance otherwise. Most shinigami who went there voluntarily did not do so just to sight-see.

"Did you find some answers, Ichigo?"

He shook his head, and Urahara may have smiled from the shadows of his hat, but it was hard to tell, and Ichigo was not looking at him anyway.

"Very well."

He was gone after that, and Ichigo was left with the night sky, open above him.

_Ichigo._

The old man's voice was a surprising rumble in his mind, deep and slightly chastising.

_Come. There are still things to do tonight. _

He nodded absentmindedly, reaching behind his back to rub the hilt of his zanpakuto, as if to reassure it, or perhaps himself.

Had he really been too distracted to notice Grimmjow for more than one enemy amongst many?

_There is no point dwelling on such things._

There was a moment of silence, and then a sharp wind blew against him, and he came out of his thoughts, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was odd. He had gone in search of meaning behind the Menos, and had only returned with questions about a matter entirely different. Life, it seemed, was out to fool him.

He tried the warehouses once more, now in the thick darkness of night, but it was empty, the taste of the Menos now further away than ever, and fading quick. There was something, he realised as he got closer and closer to his home, slightly different about it, although he knew not what.

Kon was watching for him from the living room window, which was thrown open to him. Checking that no one else was around- more out of habit that necessity now- he slipped through, nodding at the MOD soul who rubbed his-Ichigo's hair with something close to worry.

"What happened?"

"Nothin'. But something feels… weird. D'you not feel it? S'like _ripples_ in the air."

Ichigo shook his head and took back his body, not wanting to mention his trip to Hueco Mundo, which he was sure was what Kon had felt. It was just that when the barrier between the worlds was torn open by someone without the natural power to do so- like the shinigami, who could not manipulate the barrier like the arrancar, or rip it like the hollows- it caused more of a disturbance, and now Kisuke had less of his own defences up around his Shoten the effects must have been more noticeable.

"You're old man's been looking odd all day too, like he's noticed it."

"Seriously? He looks worried too?"

The fact that Isshin had been concerned did not surprise him, as Ichigo had realised by now how strong he must have been. Had he worried that Ichigo meant never to return? The now lion-suited Kon muttered a goodnight to him and tottered off to Yuzu's room and his own, specially embroidered cushion in the menagerie of toys because, despite how much he complained, he enjoyed the attention.

Ichigo made his way upstairs slowly, to the shower. The heated water failed to clear his mind and he shut it off quicker than he normally would, the steam having had barely enough time to fog the mirror. Towelled, he shuffled along the landing towards his room, his eyes aching and his body suddenly tired. He shivered, slightly, as he opened the door- Kon had left the window open here, too, and it was freezing cold. He slumped downwards on his desk, resting his head on the wood, trying to piece together the strange shards of information that he had gathered today.

A voice, from the darkness of the corner, made him snap his head up in shock.

"Hello, Kurosaki."

**TBC...**


	5. Chapter Four

Sorry, so sorry. I just… I just couldn't let it be Grimmjow. But don't worry! I promise that they will make contact this chapter. Apologies for any errors, but I've been delayed in updating and just want this posted for you guys. Thanks again to all who have reviewed!

**Chapter Four**

"Hello, Kurosaki."

Ichigo rolled his eyes at the typically melodramatic entrance of the red-haired shinigami who seemed to have taken up residence on top of his chest of drawers, before blinking at blushing violently as he realised that he was still clad only in a towel. He leant over, flicking the switch of his desk lamp to illuminate the cupboard, where he was greeted with the sight of Rukia, waving merrily at him from her normal spot, crowded into the shelf that she had requisitioned from him.

"Get out!"

He was met with rolled eyes, as he suspected that he would be. He tried to mask his embarrassment with annoyance, instead, and opted for another turn of conversation.

"You two couldn't have turned the light on?"

"Sorry."

Rukia didn't look sorry at all.

Ichigo tried to tuck his towel around himself with more care whilst not trying too hard to be conspicuous about it- it was just the sort of thing that Rukia liked to mock him about. It was always good to know that practicalities won out over the well-hidden pleasure of seeing his friends again.

"Captain Kuchiki sent you a letter."

He did not quite believe him at first- why on earth would Byakuya be writing to him? But it seemed to be true- Rukia pulled out an envelope and handed it to him, with a shrug that indicated confusion as equal to his own. The paper was thick and expensive feeling, and heavy in his hand. He put it face down on his desk without a smile, and turned to his expectant friends, whose eyes were flickering between him and the envelope.

"Will you two get the hell out whilst I change?"

Rukia laughed, jumping back into her closest and sliding the door shut, and Renji just groaned in annoyance and muttering something vaguely insulting as he turned to face the wall. Ichigo kept one eye on the closet door as he changed, still completely unwilling to trust either of them with his bare skin.

"Are you not done yet? I want to see what that letter is!"

Ichigo shook his head, knowing that he would be unwilling to read something that might be personal in front of those who were close to the Captain: they might only be offended that they did not know his altering feelings first, and he was sure that Byakuya _was_ undergoing a change of heart since Ichigo had knocked some sense into him, although Ichigo himself took little pleasure from the knowledge that he had done so. Byakuya had ghosts- and not the kind that wore black and carried shiny swords. It was strange that the stoic man was willing to trust him, but then so many people put their trust in him, it was beginning to surprise him only when people did not.

"How is your brother?"

Rukia poked her head out of the cupboard door, assuming that she was allowed to look now.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ichigo paused, not quite sure what he _did_ mean, "How is he coping with everything?"

Rukia understood immediately, as he knew that she would. About some things the two of them were completely in tune, and it seemed that the elder Kuchiki was just one more in a long list. Renji, on the other hand, was still completely lost, spinning around to glance between the two of them with a half-frown on his face. Rukia nodded, slowly.

"He is starting to let go, but…"

"Let go of what?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes at him, grinning when a look of realisation crept over his face. Rukia, on the other hand, did not seem so happy.

"Losing love… it doesn't kill you. It hurts, there is no pain like it, but it is just another type of grief, and after a while you get over it. The worst part of it is the guilt, as soon as you realise that you have forgotten them."

He hadn't forgotten Grimmjow, either, but then....

It took him a moment to realise that the first person who had sprung to his mind was the dead Espada, and shouldn't that worry him? To his surprise it did not- it just struck him with a certainty, an understanding. He had accepted a while ago the terms of his preferences, but it was wrong, wasn't it, to feel such a thing for someone like that?

Fuck, he didn't know; all he _did_ understand was that creeping over him was a guilt that he had let Grimmjow die that way, and a conviction that, maybe, had he not been killed, then...

No. No point thinking about things like that.

But he had, he had… cared for Grimmjow. More than one should care for an enemy- perhaps more than one should for a friend, either. It was, really, a pity that he was dead.

Shouldn't he have just been a little bit more pissed off that Grimmjow was still in his damn mind?

The thought, floating now, unbidden, through his mind, actually almost felt warm to him.

* * *

They left not too soon after, having only had a few hours leave manipulated by Byakuya to visit him and leave the letter. Although Ichigo had been exhausted before, he was no longer tired: now it seemed that he was too awake to remain indoors, revived by the banter and annoying ways of his friends, worse than normal at their annoyance at his refusal to read the letter. He had to sneak into Yuzu's room to grab hold of a sleeping Kon, but left his bed and body behind in recompense, slipping out of the house to wander his well-worn route through Karakura.

The industrial estate held no surprises, and neither did suburbia, areas similar to where he himself lived. He made his way to the centre of town, where the streets were lit with a white neon light and the unblinking eyes of the crowds. He moved through them unseen, taking a strange delight in being so voyeuristic. Soon, though, the night grew later and the crowds thinned, until he found himself alone.

Anxiety was knowing at him now, having taken over him with a surprising speed. How had come to this in so short a time? Just yesterday he was a technically-retired substitute-shinigami, a little bored, with a slightly unhealthy obsession with watching a Menos. Now, he was a technically-retired substitute-shinigami with a Menos-obsession and a guilt complex about having let an enemy not only of his allegiance but also on a personal level die a few months ago, who he was now coming to realise that he might actually have had feelings for…

Oh, dear Providence. And if that wasn't enough, he also had the unfinished business of an unread letter from a man that he did not particularly _like_, who he was sure that he was going to have to help.

When had all this happened? He paused in the street, the exhaustion that had disappeared earlier stealing back on him like darkness at twilight. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, and was about to turn around and leave for home, until he was stopped, suddenly, by a prickling along the back of his neck, as if…

As if there was someone watching him.

He turned, half-expecting to see the cat-like Menos that had been haunting his thoughts almost as much as the Sexta had been, but there the street behind him was empty- only a drunk, way back, being thrown out of a bar.

But there, to the side- there was darkness, an alleyway, a startling contrast of shadows to the brightness of the white light.

His body froze as he caught sight of a shock of blue, a feral grin.

"Remember me now, shinigami?"

There, leaning against a wall with all the poise and relaxation of a man who wasn't supposed to be dead, was Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Sexta Espada, and who was, apparently, very hard to kill.

Several moments passed, stretching out as if hours as the shock lit its way through Ichigo, freezing him, utterly unable to react to the impossible sight in front of him. If Grimmjow had been inclined, as he normally was, he could have killed him right out, but for some untold reason something was keeping him back, at a respectful distance, simply staring.

Grimmjow did not look dissimilar to the last time Ichigo had seen him. His hair was the same sprawled mess of blue, his eyes the same too. What he was wearing was not unlike his old Espada uniform, except the jacket was longer on his chest, and it was purely white. His eyes were wild with the same intensity, that same bright, burning blue, but a lot of his scars had gone. He bore no new scars from their last fight, although Ichigo knew that in all reality he should have; the only one that remained, in fact, was the slash down his sternum that Ichigo had given him the first time they had fought, although even that was faded to a ghostly silver.

"It was you."

"Well, obviously."

But just as Ichigo realised what Grimmjow was talking about, he knew that he was thinking of someone else. Grimmjow was talking about the Menos- Ichigo was talking about the dream, something that he had subconsciously begun to realise, but had only fully came to understand when he was presented, face to face, with the shocking real life version of those creeping hands.

And, as if Ichigo had not had _enough_ revelations that day, what the former Espada was implying sunk in.

Things connected in his mind; suddenly, a lot seemed to make sense. He was having those dreams because of unresolved issues he had with the man he had left to die: he was fixated with the conviction that he recognised the Menos because he _did._ He thought that this might have made him feel better, more carefree: it had the opposite effect.

The Espada stalked across the road towards him with the grace that he had come to know from careful observation, obviously having got bored of the caution, and in the light from the street the blue markings around his eyes were suddenly very clear.

"You were the Menos."

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, wondering if Ichigo was being intentionally slow or if he was just having trouble catching up with this strange line of thought. Ichigo felt his hand tense around Zangetsu, but noted that Grimmjow had not moved for his own zanpakuto, despite the fact that they normally would not have lasted this long in conversation without one of them drawing blade.

"How… how did you…"

"Survive? I'm a hard bitch to kill, Shinigami. You should'a learned that, by now."

His drawl was mocking, and that grin was back on his face. He looked no worse than when they had last fought- Ichigo had no idea how anyone could look that good after coming so close to death. He _had_ been that close, hadn't he? Because he looked too good to be in recovery- he looked healthier than Ichigo, standing tall and broad, vital. Ichigo pressed his index fingers against his temple, trying to ward away a headache.

"How the hell did you get here?"

Grimmjow's grin, if possible, got wider, smug and assured of himself now that he was certain that his newly developed response to near-death was still undiscovered. It was the sort of thing that, if he was still Public Enemy Number One (which he suspected he might be) he would like to keep as security.

"Long story, Kurosaki."

Ichigo was still staring at him, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end.

"Why didn't you attack anyone?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, and Ichigo took a step closer, another question already spilling from his somewhat over-taxed mind.

"Why didn't you attack _me_?"

Grimmjow stilled at that question, and stared at him, delivering one of his own in response.

"Why didn't _you_ kill me?"

The shinigami shrugged. He didn't have a reason for that- he supposed that it wasn't fair that he expected the other to have one, too. All he had known, when he had seen the creature, was that there was no way he could destroy something so graceful when it had done nothing to deserve it.

They stood facing each other in the street. He was not scared, and although rationally he should have been, there was no voice of warning from either of the parties in his mind, both of whom, he was sure, would be watching this show with great curiosity. They had never remained calm when presented with something that they saw as a threat before, and he was willing to bet that, this time, they knew something that he did not. For once, he was willing to let that be.

But still, it felt like his heart was in his throat; like it was beating too fast, enough to break out of his very ribcage. It hurt, to be this close to him.

He took another step forward, until he could see the whites of Grimmjow's eyes and the jagged marks around them with the same clarity and intensity that he had in the street the first time he had looked at the Menos. Things were irrational- this did not make sense- and perhaps that made him say what came out of his mouth next, despite how he regretted it a little later.

"Grimmjow?"

The voice that replied was a defensive snarl, sensing the change in tone, expecting a fight.

"What?"

"Stay the hell away from me."


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

To his surprise, Grimmjow had not followed him to demand battle, and he had slipped silently through his window that night with only the briefest of worry- for reasons that he could not quite explain, he trusted him, despite the many times that they had tried to kill each other. However, just because Grimmjow was out of his sight and out of his concern did not mean that he left Ichigo's thoughts. For the next week, images of him escaped his dreams and slipped with speed into his waking mind. It got to the point that every time he closed his eyes, he could see a flash of blue. He clenched his jaw, trying to focus his attention on reality, but all that happened was that he was reminded of the bone of the side of Grimmjow's face with the ache that ensued.

Ichigo was not sure why he did it, but every night he left his window unlocked, just in case he decided to come back, and then cursed himself the next morning for even considering such an impossibility. Each night he told himself that tonight he would not do it, calling himself an idiot.

He still didn't lock it, though.

On the ninth day, his patience was rewarded, although he did not let himself use that word. In his head, it was more of a punishment. Further down, in the much more realistic part of his mind, he knew that that was a lie.

_Shut up with your fucking denial, King. Get a grip, you're making it fucking rain in here._

_Good_, Ichigo thought spitefully at the voice. _At least I'm not the only one suffering. _

Grimmjow landed on the windowsill at a quarter past three in the morning, with barely a murmur of spiritual pressure to give himself away. He'd been practising, and had it down to a fine art. He figured that it was going to become something of a necessity, because he didn't fancy going back to Hueco Mundo _just_ yet. It looked like he might be able to have a bit of fun here, first. He was silent, only a quiet exhale of air and the slide of the opening window a give away, but the presence stirred Ichigo anyway.

"Oi, Kurosaki."

Ichigo rolled over in bed, sluggish with sleep.

"-the hell? Grimmjow?"

"Yo."

The Espada settled himself down on the windowsill, his feet planted on Ichigo's bed, grinning at the boy. Ichigo sat up, rubbing his eyes, his sheets pooling around his waist. Grimmjow looked the same as he had before, insolent, healthy, strong.

"You don't look too unhappy to see me, Shinigami."

"Are you going to try and kill me?"

Grimmjow shook his head, his fingers tapping lightly against the bone on his cheek. Ichigo fell back against the pillows, looking up at the former Espada with one eye closed.

"Then you can do what the hell you like."

"That's too much of an invitation."

Ichigo rolled his eyes, trying to fight the blush that was threatening to creep up over his cheeks. He knew that it would inevitably spread down his neck, and shirtless, against the white sheets, it would be painfully obvious. Unfortunately, he had also learned from experience that he probably wasn't going to be able to control it all that well, so instead he pulled up the sheets, covering himself.

"What did you want to talk about, Grimmjow?"

He shrugged, a roll of his shoulders, liquidity that reminded Ichigo immediately of his cat-like Menos form.

"Whatever."

"What? Did you just get lonely?"

Grimmjow almost faltered, Ichigo was sure, but in a moment his grin was back.

"Well, what with you not following me around any more…"

Ichigo closed the other eye, ignoring the creature on his windowsill.

"What about you? You getting lonely with all your little friends gone back home?"

Ichigo sighed. Low blow. Although it was not the crippling sort of loneliness that people normally describe, there was something missing from his world now that the war was over. It was more like boredom, a yearning for something to do, more people to talk to who could understand. He was still a little uncomfortable around his father, Urahara tended to joke too much, and although the other three were willing, Chad was too quiet, Ishida too dismissive and Orihime, he thought, seemed to want to forget. No Shinji, either, or Hiyori or Yoruichi, whose presence was a law unto herself. Rukia and Renji's presence was always too fleeting for deep conversation.

He was used to having a pile of shinigami and vizard around him, even used to the enemy being too close to comfort, and now there was just... no-one.

And damn, if he spoke too often with that inner hollow of his, he was going to go crazy.

"Yeah, a little."

Grimmjow blinked, taken aback.

"Oh."

Ichigo opened one eye again.

"Shut up, Grimmjow."

* * *

He came often after that. Once a week, maybe twice, to sit on Ichigo's windowsill and talk to the boy about whatever came into his head. Ichigo was still not sure if that was quite healthy, but at least Grimmjow wasn't trying to kill him anymore.

Now _that _was development.

This went on for a few weeks, until they began to relax around each other, although there was still a certain distance between them, a careful show of boundaries that neither was willing to cross. Grimmjow did not pry about the shinigami after that first time, and Ichigo did not talk about Aizen, or Las Noches. Some things he pressed, like how Grimmjow survived, but those questions were thrown away with flippant retorts. Half the time Grimmjow brooded, mainly about missing the last battle and how he didn't get to kill Ulquiorra, but other times he was almost… fun.

Each time Grimmjow stayed just a little bit longer, and the awkwardness slipped just a little further away. Ichigo did not like to think about what he was doing, did not want to think that half the scars that still littered his body had been given to him by the former Espada. He did not like to think what everyone would say, if they found out that Grimmjow was alive and well in Karakura, and conversing with the substitute shinigami stationed there.

He did not like to think about what they might _do_, either.

Almost to his relief, the only thing that had changed about Grimmjow was his apparently inherent urge to kill Ichigo. He still threatened him when he got annoyed- and they did annoy each other, often- and still liked to pass the tip of his tongue over his sharp teeth like an animal anticipating the kill whenever conversation slipped to battle.

"What happened, after… after we fought?"

Ichigo sighed. It was beginning to feel like a thousand years ago, now.

"I didn't kill Nnoitra, that was a Captain, but I did take out Ulquiorra. Oh, yeah- did you know Yammy was Cero?"

Grimmjow shrugged his shoulders, neither a yes or a no.

"But he got killed?"

"Yeah, he's dead."

"What about the rest?"

"A vizard took out Baraggan, a shinigami Captain fought and defeated Starrk."

"And the Second?"

There was a pause, and Ichigo's eyes were unsure.

"Aizen… Aizen killed her."

To his surprise, Grimmjow just laughed, throwing his head back, lips stretching out around his teeth, strangely feral looking.

"That sounds like Aizen, alright."

"You're not surprised?"

Grimmjow's laughter stopped, and he rubbed his forehead with two fingers, as if trying to clear a memory away.

"Idiot. There was no loyalty in Las Noches."

* * *

Ichigo tried his hardest to ignore the shot of warmth that stole across his chest whenever he woke to see Grimmjow on his windowsill, staring at him with his terrifyingly intense stare. He was never doing the same thing- sometimes he held his head in his hands, other times was standing, or swinging in the gap between the frame, his hands holding on to the top bar of the window, muscles in his arms standing out with the effort, knees pulled up to his chest.

Sometimes he was sitting completely still. Those nights, the only life evident was in his eyes, and he reminded Ichigo most of the large cat-like Menos that he used to be.

"You know, Shinigami, I could kill you so easily."

He sank to his knees on the bed, silently, as Ichigo sat up, watching him carefully.

"When you sleep, you're vulnerable."

He leant in a little closer, eyes dancing from Ichigo's own to his neck, and then back again.

"You could wake up one night with my blade at your throat, and you could do nothing to stop me."

Ichigo swallowed, and Grimmjow watched the rise and fall in his throat with interest. The tip of his tongue darted out to dampen his lip.

"Or I could kill you in your sleep, and you would never know."

He moved forward, just a little, and the back of Ichigo's mind wondered why it had suddenly become so difficult to breathe.

"Why don't you, then?"

Grimmjow reached out, and traced a line across Ichigo's throat with the tips of his fingers, tapping along the prominent pulse of his jugular. The boy shuddered, his head falling back without him meaning to. Grimmjow was suddenly close, almost too close, whispering in his ear. The former Espada's hand cupped his neck, just resting on the skin, without any pressure. Ichigo could feel his breath on his cheek, and fought the urge to close his eyes.

Grimmjow's voice was guttural, hoarse.

"I don't know why."

* * *

One night, Grimmjow joined him on duty.

They stood on a rooftop, listening and waiting. Ichigo did not understand why their voices were even more muted out here, where there was no family to wake up, but they definitely were. They were, in fact, almost whispering.

"How long were you Adjuchas-class before this time?"

Grimmjow did not meet his eyes.

"The hell d'you expect me to remember that? Too long, probably. Hell of a lot easier the second time."

Ichigo's voice was quiet still, almost breathy.

"You were a lot more graceful than I thought you'd be."

The other did turn to face him then, almost analytically.

"Oh?"

"You were…"

He blinked suddenly, and stood up a little straighter, as if he had suddenly come to his senses and caught himself doing something entirely foolish. Which, he had to admit to himself, he nearly had.

"I was what, Shinigami?"

Grimmjow's voice cut across his conscious. The other man was leaning in, crossing the wordless barrier that the two of them had so carefully adhered to up to now. Ichigo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"I… I mean…"

They were uncomfortably close now, and Ichigo hoped that it was dark enough to cover the stain that was slowly growing on his face, as if his blood were magnetized by the unruly former Espada, flooding to the surface the closer he got, trying to escape the confines of Ichigo's own body to be closer to Grimmjow.

"You were…"

He could see himself, clearly in his minds eye. His hands on the Menos' huge head, the powerful tension of its muscles. He could feel the fur beneath his fingers, the hot breath on his face. For just a moment he was right back there, right back under strange hypnotic gaze he discovered that night. What had he thought, when he walked away from the alley? What had he thought of that voice, when he had gotten over the shock of hearing it?

"What was I?"

Grimmjow had his hand on Ichigo's neck now, leaning so close that their torsos were nearly touching. Blue eyes stared into brown ones, searching for something, for the answer that Ichigo was struggling to form.

The reply was ripped from Ichigo's lips as sudden spiritual pressure ruffled their hair. Quicker than he could register, Gimmjow had pulled away.

"Damn it."

He glanced back over at the shinigami.

"Oi, go and sort it out. Later."

And with that, Grimmjow had vanished, leaving a discomforted Ichigo behind him.


	7. Chapter Six

There are too many of you lovely reviewers to thank, but in particular I would like to mention grindpantera0219, for her wonderful art that was inspired by a scene in this story, which I am completely in love with- I urge you all to go and see it: http:/ grindpantera0219 . deviantart . com / art / I-Remember-You- 167174204

This chapter has inadvertently contained a lot of references to sleep and homework, and I apologise.

**Chapter Six**

"So, you have these… these pieces of paper that tell you what is going on in the rest of the town?"

Ichigo tried to ignore him and stifled his smile, staring instead down at his homework.

"Yeah, and also the rest of the world."

There was something quite disturbing about Grimmjow's new found interest in the human world, about which he was coming to realise that he knew very little. They had such technologies, such inventions, the likes of which that Hueco Mundo could never have created, although they were far advanced in the manner of killing. In a fight, the humans would have been destroyed, but what hollow would have thought of writing down all the things that were happening to other hollows and dispersing it, so that everyone could know?

Mind you, since no hollows could either read or write, the thought was somewhat redundant.

"Grimmjow, you're not coming to… _respect_ us mere mortals, are you?"

Grimmjow sniffed at the ludicrous accusation. He did _not_ respect these humans, with their meat and their weaknesses, because they were far too frail and pathetic to be worthy of his appreciation. But there were some things that they could do that astounded him, sometimes with their brilliance, sometimes with their stupidity.

Homework was one of the latter things. He had no time to understand the purpose of _any_ additional work that did not have anything to do with swords and battle training.

He flopped down on Ichigo's bed, feeling a little petulant at the boredom that he was being forced to endure. He opened an eye, and glanced over at the shinigami-human-hollow oddity (as he so classed him, in his mind) whose conversation was all that he had these days (not that conversation had ever been high on his list of priorities) but was annoyed to realise that it looked like he was being ignored. Only this insolent upstart would dare to do something like this, he knew.

He felt fury rising in his throat, the cool voice of Pantera in the back of his mind trying and failing to calm him down. She did that a lot- she had much less of a temper than he did, although when she got riled he could feel the flick of her tail as she prowled back and forward, snarling, in his mind.

He growled to himself, but Ichigo did not look over even at that faintly threatening noise.

"Grimmjow, shut up. I need to finish this essay."

Since when was school work more important than talking, or having fun?

He _really_ didn't understand this world.

They had been fighting: not physically, for they had not, as of yet, come to the point where they had drawn blades at each other- Ichigo because he did not want to, Grimmjow because he was too wary of his perilous position, of showing himself too soon to shinigami who might have been less… sympathetic to his cause. Or, rather, might have killed him on sight without question. He was pretty sure that there may not have been many, if any, stronger than Ichigo in the Soul Society, but that didn't mean that there weren't any people who couldn't kill him, although he hated to admit it.

Instead, it was a battle of irritated words (that generally happened to occur when they were disagreeing about the _other_, more bloody type of battle) that lead to Ichigo yelling and Grimmjow swearing and the latter swooping out of the bedroom window like a disgruntled teenager, and Ichigo flopping down on his bed or chair with an angry huff.

Except this time, before Grimmjow got a hundred yards away from the house, it began to rain.

This was not the sort of rain that fell lightly and far apart, nor either the type of rain that fell in a misted-sheet; either would be bad, but this was far worse than either. It was the thick, heavy rain that drenched you in seconds, the kind that turned the colour of the streets dark and saturated the ground into a thick, cloying mud. The sky was an ominous grey, and though there was no sound of thunder, it would not take a person much to be convinced that a storm was on its way. Grimmjow stared up at that same sky for only the shortest of moments before making up his mind.

Grimmjow did not like the rain.

He wasn't used to it, not having anything similar to break the monotonous weather in Hueco Mundo. He wasn't sure quite what the point of it was, and he did not like the feeling of wet skin and dripping clothes.

He turned tail, and went (he _did not_ run) back to Ichigo's room.

He slid the window open, throwing himself back in and landing in a damp pile on the bed, his normal grace gone in his haste to get out of the rain. He shuddered at the feeling of the cold of his clothes, the fabric sticking to his skin and chilling him.

Ichigo stared at him, eyebrows raised. Ignoring him, Grimmjow turned to close the window, as the rain was coming in after him, darkening the sheets of the bed. He slid off it, shaking his head to try and displace the water from his hair.

"You look like a dog."

"Shut your mouth."

Ichigo slammed his fist against the wood of his desk, still angry from the argument before.

"If you're gonna be an ass, you can go back outside."

Glaring, Grimmjow was about to retort, but he caught sight of the water that was now running in sheets down the glass, and thought better of it. Instead, he shook his head, slumping down on the floor, leaning against the bed, his legs curled up around himself and his head resting on his knees.

"More like a cat, now."

No response came forward but for an irritated snort of disbelief, and Ichigo stared out of the window at the abysmal weather that had so suddenly come upon them. The darkening sky had left the room in twilight, too dim to be comfortable, but he did not move to switch the light on. There was something about the melancholic grey that soothed his frayed temper, and as he peered through the sheets of rain that obscured the view of the world outside into a grey haze, he found himself a little calmer. He stood and watched, lost in his own thoughts, as the streetlights flickered on outside. The rain did not lessen, and after a while he spoke some word of reconciliation to Grimmjow, who did not reply.

Turning, he realised that the other had stretched out by his bed and had fallen into a sleep. His breathing had slowed so much that it looked almost as if he were dead, given away only by the twitch in his cheek; otherwise, he was completely still.

Ichigo tried to stop himself smiling at the sight of him, and instead settled down on the bed, his head propped up on his elbow, pretending that it was completely normal to be staring at a creature who, several months ago, he would have done anything to kill.

And didn't that cause an interesting problem?

Why now was he so unconcerned about Grimmjow's presence? Why did it not feel wrong to spend time with him- why indeed, did the thought never even occur to him most of the time? He understood that he… cared for the former Espada in a way that was uncommon, but the way that he was able to relax so easily was surely not conducive to his life expectancy. He threw the thought away- it didn't matter, any more, not really; and why should he concern himself to much when it was so warm, when the rain against the glass was making such a comforting sound?

A few hours later it had fallen into darkness, and Grimmjow woke to the sound of the rain, which had much lessened. The night had come, and the room was only lit by the glow of the orange streetlights outside, and as he sat up he caught sight of the shadows that such light was casting on Kurosaki's face, lying above him on the bed, obviously having inadvertently fallen asleep on the unmade covers.

He stayed only a little while, until the rain had stopped.

He didn't notice that, at the angle that Kurosaki was lying at, he would have fallen asleep looking directly at the former Espada's own sleeping face.

Grimmjow sighed, rubbing his eyes. He did not sleep often, hollows and arrancar not needing to, but brief spells such as that crept upon him more frequently now than ever before- he wondered if that were part of this re-birth, an unfortunate side effect of rebirth. He supposed he just had to thank luck that none of Kurosaki's family had thought to come up so see him.

The room had cooled, and as he slid the window silently open he resisted the sudden, fleeting urge to pull the rumpled covers over the boy sleeping on the bed.

* * *

Eventually, inevitably, their encounters did lead to physical violence, though it was not intentional on either of their parts, and did not come in the form of any actual fight just yet. It had started with a remark, from, of all things, Karin, who had commented that since Ichigo was not running around so much any more he was starting to put a little weight on around his middle, not helped, she was sure, by the double portions of food that he was staring to take up to his room on occasion to eat, late in the evenings. Of course, Ichigo could not easily explain that that food was part of his attempts to teach his ex-psychotic, ex-arch enemy to like the human foods that he himself liked so very much.

No, he didn't think that that would go down very well at all.

Still, though, despite the fact that he was sure that it couldn't be true, he was stung by the accusation that he was losing the physique that had built up on him over the course of the few months where he underwent such intense training and battle.

He was standing in front of the mirror in his room, t-shirt hitched up around underneath his arms and glaring at his chest. No, he was sure of it- he was defined as he had been on the last day of the war, no change at all. Too defined, perhaps, for a teenage boy.

Grimmjow took that moment to slide in through the window.

He stared at the boy in front of him, who appeared to be checking himself out in his own mirror, muttering to himself and scowling in that particularly irate way that he had, and that Grimmjow had never seen replicated on another person's face. In fact, there was a lot about Kurosaki that he had never seen in anyone else. That consideration stilled the mockery that was his immediate reaction to the sight that he had been presented with.

"Oi, Kurosaki. What're you doing?"

"Karin said I was getting fat."

Grimmjow stared at him, incredulous.

"You fucking woman. Shut up already."

Ichigo turned to him, blinking, forgetting his bare chest and the awkwardness that he would normally be beset with in such a situation. For whatever reason, with Grimmjow, it just slipped his mind.

"Hey, this is a concern here!"

Grimmjow jumped down from the windowsill on which he had been perched, and raised his fists to Ichigo, mock-boxer style. He grinned rakishly, and mimed punching the other in the chest that he was so concerned about. There was something so odd about the whole image that Ichigo could do nothing but let him for a moment, so stunned by the sheer bewildering sight in front of him, by how illogical this whole situation was; all he could do was gape.

"Hey, Grimmjow?"

The other paused, lowered his fists.

"What?"

There was a long, awkward silence, but then Ichigo shook his head, and reached out to punch Grimmjow's shoulder, re-starting the mock-fight.

"Never mind."

* * *

"The white devil is worse than the black."

"The hell are you doing, talking to yourself? Sign of madness, Kurosaki."

Ichigo blinked, startled at the realisation not only that Grimmjow had arrived, but that he had been muttering to himself as he wrote. He did not look over at the window, instead focusing on his essay on an English playwright that had been in favour shortly after Shakespeare.

"You would know, Grimmjow."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

Ichigo's reaction was delayed as he scrawled down the concluding sentence of the essay that had been eluding him all day. He scratched his head, leaning back in his chair to smile up at his new acquaintance; not yet close enough to be called friend, and yet still close enough to no longer be enemies.

"I think it means that you should be more scared of the devil that you don't notice, than the devil that you would immediately see."

"So, don't let someone evil get too close, or else you'll get fucked over?"

Ichigo dipped his head to one side in a sign of acceptance of the flawed variation, but left it. It was not exactly the easiest or the most wise of tasks to try to explain the more subtle points of English Literature to Grimmjow who… hang on.

"Grimmjow, can you read?"

To his surprise, he turned a little red. It should not have surprised Ichigo as much as it did, to know that Aizen had never taught his subordinates to read or write- what need was there for literacy on the battle field? And of course, the creatures were still young, weren't they? They could have been younger than Ichigo himself, although he had no way of knowing when Aizen had created them, what with him being dead and Grimmjow unwilling to be drawn on such topics.

Grimmjow himself looked ready to leave, moving towards the window, edging slowly almost as if he were the one in threat of attack.

"I… could teach you?"

Grimmjow turned, and glared at him.

"I don't need your pity, Kurosaki."

With that, he was out of the window and gone in a flash, disappearing before Ichigo's own words even formed.

"It wasn't pity, you idiot."

* * *

It was six minutes past three o'clock in the morning, and Ichigo was asleep. Rightly so- he was exhausted from a wave of hollow invasions, coursework that he was behind on and having to pull a shift at his father's surgery because Yuzu was ill. Thus, he was also famished, as neither he nor his sister could make anything even faintly tempting, and Isshin's culinary offerings… well, less said about them the better. Ichigo wasn't sure if he had still gotten over the last dinner he had made yet. He had crawled into bet at half one, having finally finished the History composition that had been plaguing him for weeks, and had fallen immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep, his normally frowning face smoothed away as a piece of sharp glass is by the rolling of the tide.

His bedroom window was closed and locked, the curtains drawn, and when Grimmjow arrived at the Kurosaki home after a four day absence as he licked his wounded pride, he was most displeased to find his normal means of entry not only shut to him, but also locked.

Luckily for him, Ichigo had forgotten entirely about any other window in the house, and in a burst of irritation at such an brazen declaration of indifference to Grimmjow's absence, he pushed open the narrow window in the hallway and slid through it, to land with silent feet on the carpeted floor.

Grimmjow did not question his anger- when had he ever before? But there was an unregistered irrationality to it, for he had no reason to be annoyed at Ichigo. None at all, in fact, other than that, the subconscious part of Grimmjow's brain snarled, Ichigo should have been waiting at the window, _pining_ for the return of Grimmjow-fucking-Jaegerjaquez. He should have been desperate to see him- not desperate to lock him the fuck out.

It was an insult.

It wasn't going to stand.

He crept into Ichigo's room, only to find that he wasn't there.

There was a moment of bewilderment as he stood and stared at the empty bed, but a quiet voice behind him made him freeze. He turned slowly, coiled and tensed and ready to strike, as a soft female voice, young, decidedly sure of itself despite the situation, asked him what he was doing in her brother's room.

Standing in the doorway was a little girl, with short brown hair and dark eyes that reminded Grimmjow a little of Ichigo's, who was staring at him with the complete and utter assurance that only someone who does not fully understand the true danger that she might be in, standing in front of a man who could kill her with ease and quite possibly without conscience, wearing flannel pyjamas and big, pink, fluffy slippers. Her face was drawn and pale but there was a lively look of interest about her expression that did nothing to make Grimmjow relax.

"Are you looking for onii-san?"

He struggled in his head to remember the name's of Kurosaki's sisters: the other did not often mention them, perhaps because he still had a lingering instinct of self-preservation from the war that made him cautious about revealing his most personal weaknesses, those whose harm would do himself grievous hurt, to the enemy, no doubt still considering Grimmjow, on some unintentional level, as such.

"I can't normally see things from the other side, you know, not like onii-san and otou-san, and my sister, Karin. Just faint outlines, most of the time, but on occasion I can see more."

He nodded, taking a step back and resting his hand lightly on the hilt of Pantera. He had underestimated Kurosaki too, when he had met him, hadn't he? And who knows how many family traits had been passed around the siblings.

"It's quite nice to finally meet you, Jaegerjaquez-san, and to actually be able to see you is-"

"What, he's _told_ you about me?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, no, of course not- I don't know who exactly you are but I'm sure he has good reasons to keep you quiet. But Ichi never tells us anything, you know, and I've got quite good at telling when things are bothering him. Besides- even he couldn't eat all the food that he keeps bringing upstairs."

Grimmjow was thrown, bemused entirely.

"Then how do you know my name?"

She blushed, nudging the carpet with her foot.

"Well, a few nights ago, I walked past his room, and I heard him mutter your name. He sounded quite angry, at the time- I suppose that is why he has been in such a foul mood these last few days. Do you want me to show you where he is?"

She turned and left after that odd line, leaving Grimmjow hovering awkwardly behind her in the cold and dark bedroom. Her footsteps tapped lightly down the hallway, and it took him only a moment of quick contemplation to decide to follow her. She had not gone far, for the house was not large enough for there to be anywhere particularly distant to travel to. Her smile had gone when he arrived, and she had a hand pressed lightly against the wood of a closed bedroom door. It was Grimmjow who had to open it, revealing a large and normal room. There was a double bed in the centre, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, a window festooned with photograph frames.

He ran a finger along the wood of the picture rail as he passed, and there was a light covering of dust on it, as if this room had not been cleaned in a while. Ichigo was in the bed, curled foetal underneath the covers, almost obscured but for the bulk of him.

He walked to the windowsill, picking up one at random. In comparison to the rest of the room, each photograph was meticulously polished, each one a silent testament to a memory and person.

Grimmjow stared at it, head on one side. There was a small boy with a shock of orange hair in it, holding tight onto the hand of a woman who was looking down at the boy with a slight frown and a warm smile, as if a little worried.

Ichigo stirred under the sheets.

The room smelt musky, of long-ignored possessions.

"Our father tends to sleep in his surgery, you know, even though this is his bedroom. It is rare any of us sleep in here, now- just when we are feeling particularly… you know."

She still stood outside, in the hall, as if afraid to cross the threshold. Grimmjow did not look at Ichigo, just placed the photograph back down and stared a moment out of the window, which faced the garden. He shared a moment with the night-lit view, before opening the pane, letting the air into the cool room.

"I don't know if you know what it is like to lose a parent, but Ichigo took it particularly hard, out of any of us."

"I never had parents."

Yuzu looked at him,

"Well, then I am sorry for you."

"Don't be, I am not. Such trivial bonds of loyalty seem to be of little consequence."

Yuzu turned to him and smiled, her eyes surprisingly kind. She looked at him with a tawny-coloured warmth, the sort of which that he had seen, on the rarest of occasions, in the eyes of her brother.

"But then, why are you here, Jaegerjaquez-san?"

Grimmjow said… nothing. Rare though it was, he felt a little ashamed.

He stepped over the photographs, out of the house, and never mentioned to Ichigo that he had seen him, that night, in his dead mother's bed.


	8. Chapter Seven

I think it is really sad that I totally have just come up with an idea for a sequel to this story, already. God, I should really stop thinking so hard about fanfiction.

I have had some lovely reviews from some lovely people- I can't list them all, so I'll just say a big thank you to you all.

**Chapter Seven**

Grimmjow followed Ichigo down the alleyway, rolling his eyes. Apparently there was a purpose to this late-night venture, but he couldn't see it yet: he shoved his hands in his pockets, but refused to complain, because only the day before Kurosaki had told him that he sounded like a petulant kid, and his pride had been stung by the accusation. He refused to give Kurosaki any more ammunition on the subject. Besides, it wasn't so bad: at least it wasn't raining. All they were doing was walking down some dark side-street, after all, and apart from that strange, not quite unpleasant chlorine smell, there was nothing _really_ to complain about (not that that, in normal circumstances, would have stopped him).

Kurosaki, he had noticed, seemed to be making a habit of taking his pride and wounding it almost as severely as he had once wounded the former-Espada's flesh. The only difference between those days and now, as far as he could see, was that inexplicably he had suddenly become much more able to cope with this sort of insult: almost as if, in fact, in an odd enough way, he had matured. God, what a thought. If only Ulquiorra could see him now, having always looked down on his emotional outbursts- no, scratch that, he was glad the fucker was dead.

Ichigo reached a side door to the building that had been broken open by people before them. He looked to either side, despite the fact that the MOD soul had his body, and so very few people would even be able to see him. Apparently he was just naturally cautious, or something: Grimmjow didn't quite understand the reasoning behind it, and with a roll of the eyes tried to make himself look all the more obvious- not that electric blue hair and bright white clothing was exactly inconspicuous to begin with.

He grabbed at Grimmjow's arm, and dragged him into the building.

The smell was stronger here, and he wrinkled his nose at it as the other lead the way down graffiti-decorated corridors lined with tile. He touched a finger to a lurid green slash of a signiture, and the paint came away on his skin, still wet. It was pitch-dark outside, somewhere near four in the morning, when even the most rebellious of teenagers tended not to be around, at least only in a few places: to his gratification, this did not appear to be one of them. He disliked the human youths who he had frequently observed in his wanderings for their idleness and apathy: the sort of attitude that would have got you killed in Las Noches (unless you were someone like the Primera, but then, he really was one of a kind).

The first room they went into was large, but sectioned off into cubicles, with great metal lockers on three of the walls. There were overturned and smashed benches, and most of the lockers were dinted and broken into. Grimmjow's understanding of the human world was admittedly limited, but even he had to wonder at the place.

"Oi, Kurosaki. Why is this place not locked up?"

"S'due for demolition some time, and no-one ever got around to sorting it out. The doors into the main part are locked up still though, and too heavy to force, so…"

From somewhere, he pulled out a ring of keys, that he waved with a distinctive clink without turning around to face Grimmjow.

"How in the hell did you get those?"

Ichigo did turn around then, and to Grimmjow's gratification he did look a little embarrassed.

"The old caretaker's a patient at my dad's clinic, and he left them in his drawer. I doubt that they've changed the locks, it's not been long since it closed."

Grimmjow looked at him with a new-found respect.

"You cunning bastard."

Ichigo shrugged, blushing a little still, but more at the audacity of what he had done than at the compliment, and went back to trying to find the right key to fit into the lock on the door. Not that he would mention it now, but he had been here quite a bit as a child, with his mother, and he'd wanted to have another look around ever since he heard that it was up for demolition; he just never had had the chance before this opportunity, and it was only bad luck that decreed that Grimmjow should stop by that night. He was difficult to shake off, and though he would rather have come here alone, he couldn't explain why he didn't want the other there without having to go into the reason why, and that was just embarrassing.

Thanking providence, he eventually found the right key, and turned it with a slightly rusted click. He shook his head at the state of the town council- had they just _stopped_ caring, or something? He wondered why no one had ever trying forcing the lock before now, but he supposed that it would take a lot to do, for it was a thick-barred, heavy duty one.

He shrugged. Better for him, this way, wasn't it?

He shoved open the door to more darkness. The windows had been boarded up a week before, when it had closed, but from what the old man had been saying…

Ichigo hoped, and struggled around the wall to find the light switch.

It was in an enclosed box, as he had thought it might be from the otherwise inexplicably small key that was on the ring. Scratching at the surface and to the tune of constant swearwords, he finally managed to fit it in blind, and got the box open.

In the meantime, Grimmjow had been staring around, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the light. He could hear the faint slap of barely moving water, he was sure, and the sound of their footsteps echoed in the room: it sounded almost cavernous in proportions. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as, with a predators natural instinct, he tried to assess the room for potential threats. Though he often barged into situations without consideration in rash temper, he knew well the price of not planning, since pretty much each idiotic venture had left a scar of some sort on his body before his change, and they had vanished.

"Ready for this?"

Grimmjow snorted, and Ichigo felt suddenly glad that he had brought someone with him. No, in fact, more than that: he was glad that it was Grimmjow here with him, right now. He ignored the thought, and hit the lights.

It was slightly less dramatic than he had anticipated.

Apparently, these were only one set of lights, not the over-head ones, but they gave more than enough illumination for him to be able to make his way back to the doors and pull the lock off, only to replace it with a decisive click on their side, so that no errant vandal might find their way in. In his head he was overjoyed, though he was careful not to let it show: how would he have known that they had not got around to draining the pool yet?

He had turned on the underwater pool lights, and they lit the room with an eerie blue phosphoresce, the exact same colour as Grimmjow's hair, but more diluted as it spread. It cast strange and inexplicable shadows on the wall, the slats of boarded wood suddenly taking on the cast of leering faces, the tiles made to look cracked and dissolute. The black shadows still had tight hold over the rest of the room, but it leant the once-public pool with a wrap of warmth and secrecy, like candle-light across a table.

"What the hell is that? Is it water?"

Remembering that Grimmjow would never have seen anything like this before, Ichigo turned back to the other, only to find him crouched at the waters edge, leaning over, hand tracing the surface. From his perspective behind the former-Espada, he could see the shiver that ran down his spine at the cool touch of water.

An urge crept over him, and he snuck forward quickly, placing his hands on Grimmjow's shoulders and with a sudden and decisive push, knocked the former-Espada clear into the water.

He laughed aloud in triumph as Grimmjow fell, but it died in his throat as the former-Espada did not emerge.

It then struck Ichigo that Grimmjow would not be able to swim.

He leant over the poolside, eyes not quite registering what was going on through the haze of moving water and panic.

"Shi-"

He was cut off as a wet body came out of the water with momentum that he must have picked up from instinct when he reached the floor of the pool with his feet: he grabbed Ichigo in an-almost embrace that was more from fear and total panic than any sense of fun retribution, attempting to get out of the water in any way possible. Unfortunately, Ichigo was caught off balance, and fell tumbling in as well, weighing the other down. His body stopped Grimmjow from surfacing: Grimmjow's unshakable grasp on his clothes had the same effect on him.

Somehow, underwater, he managed to right them and pulled off the same stunt that Grimmjow had done before, only this time he got them to the surface and held them there, floating, whilst Grimmjow spluttered and ineffectually swiped at him. In an awkward half-paddle he managed to get them to where Grimmjow could stand, and it was only then that he noticed that there was such a pronounced height difference between them: where the other could stand comfortably, Ichigo had to float, or else flounder with water lapping in his nose.

Grimmjow stood drenched but not glaring: there was a look that could almost have been described as terror just past, and when he was eventually able to talk, his voice was choked, and Ichigo felt a little guilty.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Sorry. Joke."

The glare that Grimmjow turned on him was chilling. The joke had not got down well. Only the promise of blankets and a change of clothes was enough to placate him into not murdering Ichigo then and there (and with most people that would have been an idle threat, but with the man that you not so long ago fought in a kill-or-be-killed battle, you always had to be careful). After having to help him out of the pool and out of the building they managed to get back to his home in one piece, though when they got there (and because, apparently, Ichigo was feeling suicidal) he saw it as a good opportunity to have one of his many questions answered.

"Sorry."

"You fucking will be."

"Can we go to your place?"

Ichigo was half-running around, his body snoring in the bed as Kon slept through the intrusion, throwing things in a bag.

"What?"

Grimmjow was floored. It was always hard to be at Ichigo's in the dead of night, having to keep their voices low, a difficult task considering how much they often annoyed each other, but the other had never suggested going elsewhere. He swallowed. Letting Ichigo come to where he slept would be letting go of the last vestige of independence from vulnerability. Weaknesses such as locations gave the enemy the advantage: just as Ichigo rarely mentioned his family, by denying him access to where he stayed would keep him at least a little safer.

However, as soon as he thought that he also realised that, no matter what he was used to knowing, Kurosaki would not use it against him.

It seemed that despite evidence to the contrary, they both still automatically saw each other as enemies.

The thought made him feel, for a moment, as if he were choking on his own heart, as if it were determined to find a way out of his own body.

He looked across at the still-soaked shinigami, black cloth sticking to the contours of his chest with a dedicated insistence. Against his better judgement, he nodded, and slipped back out of the window. Ichigo caught up with him when he paused on a rooftop, glaring at him for disappearing so quickly, a bag slung over his shoulder. Grimmjow, as well as feeling uncomfortable, was still just as soaked as Ichigo was, though they both were a little drier than they had been when they got out of the pool. Grimmjow's hair was still dripping down his spine, putting him in a bad mood. Before Ichigo could say anything, Grimmjow grabbed his wrist and dragged him across the sloping warehouse roof, nearly making him fall over.

Ichigo ignored the flushing heat that spread across his face as Grimmjow kept up the contact on his skin for a few minutes longer than was perhaps necessary, and pretended that this whole evening was not completely surreal.

Grimmjow's 'place', as it turned out, was an empty warehouse in the industrial estate. It made Ichigo shiver as he walked in, for the place had a feeling of disrepair and loneliness. Grimmjow, feeling strangely shy, masked the feeling that he had never before experienced with an attitude of surly and indifferent concern, repeated three times that he had only been here a couple of weeks (apparently he was constantly moving, paranoid about people tracking him- not that you could blame him, he said to Ichigo as he looked at him slyly, when there were _certain_ people who, it seemed, just couldn't seem to stop following him: to his credit, Ichigo didn't even blush).

It was empty.

Bare wooden floors stretched out across the top floor, broken furniture heaped in one corner and covered in a thin layer of dust. There was a small, partitioned room, that Ichigo supposed must once have been some sort of office, and at a loss what to do he searched it for electric plugs: unfortunately it seemed his luck was not total tonight, for the electricity had been cut already. A shame- he had brought his sisters' hairdryer from the bathroom, an image of Grimmjow blow-drying his strange blue hair into tamed submission making him laugh as he went in there to get towels, one of which he now threw to the other, who caught it, and stared at it, as if he had never seen it before.

Ichigo, once more, cursed his idiocy and Grimmjow's ignorance of the world. If he had never seen a pool, and there was no rain in Hueco Mundo, what was the likelihood that the hollows had invented towels?

Aizen had taught them vital knowledge, but he had not focused on day-to-day aspects, more on how to track across land that was not bleak desert, how to ignore the noise and smells, what weapons a human might have, things like that. Grimmjow bluffed through most of his ignorance at the human world, but when directly confronted with something like this he knew not what to do with it. He held the towel out in front of him as if it might explode. Ichigo was just glad that there were the thick, blue ones clean- who knows what Grimmjow's reaction to Yuzu's pink, flowered towels might have been.

"Sit."

Grimmjow, more in surprise than in any inclination to obey orders, did so promptly, with a thud. Ichigo took the towel from him and knelt behind him, immediately beginning to roughly towel-dry his hair. His gaze was far from idle as he tried to focus it on anywhere but the body in front of him: instead, he stared at the dusty floor, and wondered how on earth Grimmjow managed to keep his white clothing so impeccably clean when living here, rather than being swept and marked with grey.

His hand caught Grimmjow's ear as it slipped away from the towel, and Grimmjow made a strange noise in the back of his throat, half a growl, half a purr.

Ichigo swallowed, but carried on until it was dry. He ran his fingers through it just to be sure, the colour reminding him once more of the colour of the pool. He smiled involuntarily at the sudden, shockingly real visual of Grimmjow standing taller than him, red-faced and panting, dripping with water.

His hair was soft, not as wiry as it looked.

He hadn't known that.

Perhaps, had he stayed to pet the Grimmjow-Menos for longer, the fur on the underside of his throat might have had the same softness, had the great creature lifted its massive jaws to present his jugular to him in a display of elegant submission.

"There, all done!"

His voice rang too loud in the quiet, a little too high and too sudden, and Grimmjow did not move. He cursed the atmosphere that sometimes fell on them as it did now: heavy and thick, as if there were things in the air that he did not understand well enough to touch, to grab hold of, though some instinctive part of him told him that to do so would be quite the best thing he had ever done.

"Thanks."

Coming to his senses, Ichigo went to the bag, and began pulling out blankets to warm them both up, for the night was chill and though cold took longer to sink into to spiritual beings, it still did eventually.

A thought struck him.

"Hey, where do you sleep?"

Grimmjow shrugged, gesturing to the floor.

"I don't need much sleep."

Ichigo nodded, aghast, an invitation to sleep on his at least carpeted floor strangled in his mouth by the bitter taste of reality. He didn't like that he was so comfortable to have Grimmjow sleeping near him-

_Next to you, you mean, King. Or wait, was it on you?_

He swore at that laughing hollow, who, now he had made his voice heard, did not seem willing to let go of Ichigo's attention. He capered and cavorted in words the same way a clown might have done with his body, but there was always an edge of steel and bitterness to the hollow, the sort of sound that made you laugh only awkwardly, as you wondered, perhaps, when the court jester might turn around and slit your throat instead of performing his normal backwards-somersault-juggling act.

_You don't know what he knows about you, King. Do you think me and the old man can't hear his zanpakuto? She likes us, you know. _

Ichigo shivered at the thought of Pantera, having become more than accustomed to the feeling of her blade against his skin as she and Grimmjow attempted to take their pound of meat away for their prize. But then, Grimmjow wasn't like that any more, was he? So why should she be?

Grimmjow found himself staring at the boy as he stood, so obviously conflicted by the voice that it seemed he was listening to, if the glazed over expression was anything to go by. He understood that blank stare, because he had seen it on others and felt it on his own face as he talked to his zanpakuto. Even like that, eyes unfocused and his jaw lax, Grimmjow could not help but admire the way that the muted orange streetlight, which was all they had to go off, made Ichigo's skin take on a strangely attractive hue, that made his hair look as if it were burning with internal fire.

He shook his head, and aimed a lazy and intentionally ill-aimed kick at Ichigo's legs, half-attempting to knock him over.

"Kurosaki, are you alright?"

Ichigo nodded quickly, stare flickering down to the floor and then back up again, and Grimmjow felt his own throat constrict in as words failed him. Their eyes met, and they realised that neither of them would be able to explain exactly the extent of what on earth was going on with the whole situation: such a sudden realisation hit them with all the force of a need to win in battle.

Things were getting out of control.


	9. Chapter Eight

I have a new idea kicking around, but I'm conflicted about which characters to use it for- if any of you have a minute, could you answer the poll in my profile?

Some of this was originally meant to go in earlier, but more chapters have been added in between to (hopefully) better develop both their characters and relationship. So if it seeems a little late, that's why.

**Chapter Eight**

Grimmjow did not think too much about the landscape of Hueco Mundo compared to that of the human world, but on occasion he stood on a rooftop and stared out across the expanse of the town and felt conflicted in a thousand ways at the amazing differences. He had been born- or reborn, or however you wished to describe your arrival into Hueco Mundo as a hollow- into a world of expressionless sand with no distinct features other than the sky: here the world was always divided, between land and mountain and buildings, between the trees and the plants and the flotsam and jetsam of civilisation: skyscrapers and slums, ancient buildings of ruinous stone and massive modern buildings of glass that could not show his own reflection, for in this world he lived on the other side of sight, and his shadow passed from mirror to mirror without recognition.

He didn't like the rain; he didn't like the sun, for it got in his eyes and blinded him. He didn't like the noise of the place, of those great roaring cars (what was wrong with using your feet, for fucks sake?) and he didn't like the constant babble of people- they all seemed to talk, all of the time.

So why did he stay, you wonder? There was little logic to it on the surface: he was in far more danger of discovery here, and there were far more risks involved without a lot of gain, but he had his reasons, as everyone has.

He had seen the mountains in the distance and pictures of sand and water that Ichigo promised they would one day go to see, when he had time; on the edge of the city the land gave way to forest and field, and he quite liked it there, though the shadows that the trees cast made everything look barred, and he was strangely reminded of a cage, the sort of cage that he had seen those great cats prowl around in. He hadn't liked that, the place with all the animals, that they were locked away. People stared at them, but when he looked they had seen him (animals always seemed to be able to) and then had looked away: the great rust-coloured spheres of their eyes were dulled, tired, nothing at all wild about them left.

The mountains though, in the far off haze of the air… he could appreciate them. they made this whole place look more real. Sometimes, when you stared too long at the horizon in Hueco Mundo, everything seemed to still until it became that you were half-convinced that it was all an illusion, wavering in the air, as if you might be somewhere else and were not aware of it. He didn't like that thought, not at all, and at least here there were things to position yourself by other that skeletal trees and shifting dunes: here, at least, you could feel affixed to something real, something bigger than yourself.

Sometimes, he had felt inexplicably lost: perhaps that was why becoming the strongest had been so important to him, why developing into Vasto Lorde and then arrancar, as if a name would give him definition: perhaps that was why, though they all hated it, they clung so tight to the rank and honour of Las Noches, why they called themselves by their number. Why they fought to get higher up the ranks, to gain more _worth_, as if a number on your skin could decide it.

Perhaps that was why the Primera had always looked so sad- maybe, reaching the top, he had found that those feelings never went anywhere.

There was a safety in this world in that anchor that demanded he be nothing but what he wished to be, a safety that demanded nothing from him in return.

And that, you see, was why he stayed.

* * *

"Hey, Grimmjow?"

"What?"

"What are you?"

They were sat on the Kurosaki roof. Although they would not normally risk being seen by the other two who patrolled Karakura, it was an unbearably stuffy night, and so had moved outside to try and catch some air. Both were tensed, waiting for someone to notice them, but so far no one had- it seemed that their luck was holding out, for the night at least, and they had a chance for some total privacy- from the distraction of homework, from Ichigo's family, from everything that could sometimes make the time in Ichigo's room stilted. A return to Grimmjow's warehouse had not been suggested by either, but then, it had only been about a week or so and a strange caution had grown in their actions between each other, both worried by the turning tide.

"What the fuck d'you mean?"

Ichigo was frowning, looking across at the other. This was obviously something that had been bothering him for a while, and he looked hesitant about asking, as if it would be an answer that he did not want to hear. If it worried Grimmjow that he actually could tell this sort of thing about Ichigo these days… in honestly, the likelihood of Grimmjow analysing his own actions that quickly and immediately were slim to none, so to be able to do it for someone else was abnormal to him.

"Well, you were an arrancar, right?"

"Sexta Espada, more than a mere arrancar."

Ichigo pointedly ignored that, and continued.

"And then you, what, lost too much spiritual power and reverted back to an adjuchas-class menos? And then you got more power, and then the next step up is Vasto Lorde, right?"

Grimmjow nodded.

"The fuck is your point, Kurosaki?"

"So now, right, you would be a Vasto Lorde? But if you're not an arrancar any more, then why do you still have a zanpakuto?"

Grimmjow stared down at the hilt at his hip in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed it before. The look on his face showed that that hadn't occurred to him, and a momentary stiffening of his body and utter silence implied that he was receiving a reply from Pantera that was just as much a riddle as the question had been. Grimmjow had said very little about his zanpakuto, but Ichigo had got the impression that it was as damn well complex on some issues as Grimmjow could be forthright and simple. Ichigo sighed, doubting that he would have any answers.

"I can't tell you. It's not like there are many of us around, are there? All the other Espada are dead, no idea where any of the rest of Aizen's army have fucked off to."

There was silence, and now it was Grimmjow who was frowning.

"But, even when I was adjuchas-class again, it wasn't the same."

Ichigo blinked, and the former Espada pulled his zanpakuto out, laying it across his knees, stroking the blade with two fingers.

"Pantera was still talking to me, you know? Does yours…"

He trailed off, making vague gestures in Ichigo's direction.

"The old man? Yeah, we speak, though normally just when he's offering me advice or trying to train me up for something."

_Don't forget me, King. You know you'd be lost without me._

He raised an internal eyebrow at the voice as Grimmjow nodded.

"I think that once you've found your zanpakuto's spirit, it doesn't go away. I couldn't hear her before, but I bet you couldn't when you first got your powers, right?"

"Yeah, that's true."

"So, I don't think it matters what I am; Pantera is always gonna be with me. So I guess I'm not a Vasto Lorde, and I can't be an arrancar anymore, either, can I? Aizen didn't create me this time, and I didn't rip my mask off. I hadn't thought of that."

Ichigo found himself reaching into his mind to feel the comforting presence of his own zanpakuto. Zangetsu was there, a reliable companion as always. He touched on the hollow as well, but he did not react as he often did, and gave no word; it was almost like he gave a nod in Ichigo's direction, but let him carry on.

"I guess I'm just one-of-a-fucking-kind, huh? No allegiance, no sides. Just damn strong. Hell, I'll be the strongest thing left to come from Hueco Mundo, I reckon, with all the rest dead. There was only five of 'em better than me, and they're all gone, ain't they?"

He turned to grin at Ichigo, who felt his stomach flip. Grimmjow settled back against the rooftop, still smirking at this revelation.

"And you know what? That fucking ain't a bad place to be. One-of-a-fucking-kind."

* * *

Ichigo found himself full of questions that he wanted to ask Grimmjow, all of the time, but he made sure to restrict himself. Too many and he got annoyed, like Ichigo was clawing up bad memories, and since so much of what Ichigo wanted to know involved his past, and his 'death', Ichigo couldn't really oppose that reaction. He himself didn't like to talk too much about the final battles of the war, although he tried his hardest to fill in the gaps for Grimmjow, knowing that it meant something important to him, to understand how his brethren had died.

"Do you miss them?"

"Who?"

"The Espada."

Grimmjow looked at him incredulously, as if he had just asked the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. Ichigo fought down the urge to apologise, or look away, or even to blush.

"Fuck no."

When Ichigo looked surprised at this admission, Grimmjow sighed.

"Look, we weren't allies like you and the Soul Society were, alright? We were all lumped together because no one wanted to tell Aizen to fuck off. Hell, some of us even believed in what he was doing, or thought it was the best way to get what we want. We all fucking _hated _each other, some worse than others."

"Really? But…"

"But nothing. Sure, the Primera was too fucking lazy to do anything, but the rest of us? Nah, if you didn't like someone weaker than you, then you killed them, and if someone stronger than you didn't like you, then you'd better be fucking prepared to fight dirty to beat 'em. How'd you think your Nelliel got taken down by Jiruga?"

"Some of you must have got on?"

"This really ain't going in, is it? D'you ever meet the Ninth?"

Ichigo shook his head.

"Rukia killed him, but no. I heard stories though, about what he could do."

"Fuckin' freak, he was. But Granz thought so too, and wanted to play around with him. Obviously, test-tube-head wasn't having any of it, but he knew he couldn't do anything, so just stayed out of his way."

Ichigo rolled his eyes.

"What, like you stayed out of people's way?"

"Ulquiorra was a piece of shit. I could've taken him eventually."

Ichigo said nothing to that, just rubbed the scar on his chest that was a lingering memory of his own fight with the Fourth Espada, deciding not to ask Grimmjow why his thoughts went right to him in particular. Grimmjow noticed the movement and looked away, still a little bitter that it had not been him- on either side. To kill Ulquiorra had once been high on his list of top-things-to-do-this-week, as had killing Ichigo.

"And, hell. I never bothered trying to fight Primera. He'd have wiped the floor with me, even I could see that. And I stayed out of the old man's way, too. Never saw him fight, but heard some stuff about it, and I wouldn't want to rot, thanks all the same."

He looked again at Ichigo.

"You've got scars, but at least you're not decayed. Don't thing you'd suit the look, to be honest."

Ichigo half-laughed.

"Small mercies, right?"

There was a moment of silence as Grimmjow looked down at his chest.

"I sort'a miss my scars, y'know?"

"You've still got one."

Grimmjow held up two fingers.

"Two, and my six."

Ichigo frowned, evidently confused. Aside from the obvious scar on his front, given to him by Ichigo himself, there was no obvious second scar, much less another six, and the phrasing of that was odd as well. It was only when Grimmjow stood from his perch on Ichigo's dresser and turned, shedding the clothing that covered his back, that Ichigo caught sight of the tattoo and realised what he had meant. The mark of the Sexta Espada had survived transition, and was as clear as ever.

"What about the scars?"

Grimmjow tapped the faded one on his chest, giving Ichigo a meaningful look that, just for a moment, was not quite friendly.

"Pretty thing, ain't it? Still not forgiven you, by the way."

Ichigo blanched a little, Grimmjow's tone reminding him of Kenpachi's ominous threat to 'even up the score' one day. He was pretty sure that unless he made a real good job of avoiding him, one day Zaraki was going to kill him. Unless, that is, Ichigo killed him first: defeating him would only intensify him into further battles, and he really wasn't sure if he could live that long. The thought of the next life didn't make him feel any better: imagine hundreds of years of constant battles? He shuddered a moment, before returning to the conversation.

"Then why aren't you attacking me?"

"Fuck if I know."

"For someone who holds their pride so high, you sure are unwilling now. I remember the days when you'd slash at a shadow that just looked like me."

His tone was light, but Grimmjow was staring at the wall, slightly brooding.

"Things are different, now. I'm not fighting for the same things."

"I thought you only ever fought for yourself."

Grimmjow shook his head, hands drawing into fists at his sides.

"There are different parts of yourself, you fucking idiot. They give you different reasons."

Ichigo was surprised at this depth from Grimmjow, as he often was: he forgot, sometimes, that there must be more to Grimmjow than the murderous, killing machine that he had fought so often. He felt ill at ease, not convinced that reminding Grimmjow of his former, blood-and-gore tendencies was quite the best thing for his own health.

"Go on, then. Where is the second one?"

"Here."

Grimmjow relaxed, and as Ichigo sighed in relief saw that he was pointing to his lower lip, but Ichigo was unable to see anything except the line of his mouth. He moved a little closer, having to look upwards to see properly. After a moment he shook his head, apologetic and still confused.

"I can't see anything."

"You're fucking useless, then."

Affronted, Ichigo rallied.

"How the hell did you even get a scar there, anyway?"

For a moment, Grimmjow almost looked embarrassed.

"I got bitten."

"What?"

He was positively glowering now, arms crossed and scowling over Ichigo's shoulder at the memory.

"That bastard Jiruga. Bit right through my lip."

The confusion was evident on Ichigo's face.

"Was a while ago, now. Wasn't as strong as I am now. Aizen tested me against one of his new creations, and I was beat up pretty bad."

He paused a moment to smirk, his old confidence coming back.

"Should'a seen the other guy, though. But I was leaning against a wall, and he comes sauntering past. Cocky shit he was- always has been, and he was pretty new back then. Laughed at me, and I told him to go fuck himself, so he bit me clean through my lip."

"Why?"

"He felt like it, I guess. Always was a twisted fuck. Gave him a couple o' scars after I stopped bleeding, though."

Ichigo got to his feet and took a step closer again, now determined to find it. On his toes, he examined the lip until he saw it- a line of darker red against the rest, slightly sunken in, like a permanent bite indentation. It was barely visible, only if you were this close, and he felt a strange surge of pride at being able to find it, at being allowed close enough. It was swallowed after a moment by pure curiosity.

"Why do you think only those ones survived?"

"Fuck if I know. Maybe because they hurt the most."

Ichigo nodded, perhaps more to himself than in reply, and sunk back down to the heels of his feet, suddenly very aware of their proximity. Grimmjow was giving him that look- that look that people give you when they have just realised something, and now see you as if they have never seen you before at all. The former-Espada's hands were clenching and unclenching by his sides. They locked gazes, and the tension between them grew inexorably, neither willing to say anything to the other.

Ichigo swallowed, and saw Grimmjow's eyes flicker down to his throat. His mouth felt dry, his eyes were unwilling to blink, and he could hear Grimmjow breathing, exhaling air against his face. He could hear a dull thump, and it took him a moment to realise that it was the sound of his own blood, boiling under his skin as if it were trying to escape.

He tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing.

Grimmjow took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

"I'll see you around, Kurosaki."

In a moment, he was gone.

* * *

Grimmjow's visits had begun to weigh on his mind. The only time the burden was gone was when the former Espada himself was there; but on those occasions everything of significance seemed to fall away from him, so that was to be expected.

He didn't like it, the way that Grimmjow managed to make him feel exposed, with just a single look.

Didn't like it, but had no way to stop it, either.

He supposed, in all honesty, that he probably needed to talk to someone about it, someone who would try to understand his position, would try to empathise and find a solution. Sitting at his desk, the light of the setting sun spilling through his window, he rested his head in his hands. There was no such person, on either side of death. No one would understand quite why he was being such a fool.

"Yo."

His head snapped up, but he did not turn around.

"You're early."

Grimmjow grinned to himself, and jumped in through the window, landing with befitting cat-like grace on the floor.

"Got a problem with that, Shinigami?"

Ichigo spun in his chair, finding Grimmjow closer than he had anticipated. That seemed to be a reoccurring problem, these days. He rolled his eyes in answer, not backing away from him, in case the former Espada took it as defeat. Instead, he swung back around on his chair, and picked up his pen, feigning work. Well, he did have work, but there was no way in hell he could complete it when his mind was so full of conflicting desires about the Very Bad Thing that was this... companionship.

"I'm busy, you bastard."

Grimmjow was not offended, and moved behind Ichigo, leaning in over his shoulder to see what he boy was doing. As far as he could tell, it was just words on paper, nothing at all exciting.

"I thought it was your night patrolling your little town?"

Ichigo suppressed a shiver as the words ghosted across his ear.

"No. Ishida's."

Grimmjow grunted, obviously disappointed that he wasn't getting a reaction from the shinigami.

"Whatever."

He was half way out of the window when he Ichigo called him back, taking him by surprise. Ichigo had sent him on his way before, and other times he had left at his own accord, when the strangeness of the situation had crept over him. Ichigo had never tried to stop him before.

"Oi, Grimmjow."

"What?"

"Stay."

The Espada turned to glare at him, because he had never liked people giving him orders, but the look on Ichigo's face cut off the biting retort that he had been planning to spit out. Ichigo had gotten to his feet, and was facing him, one hand on his chair and the other at a fist by his side. He met Grimmjow's stare levelly, but his jaw was so tight it looked as if it might be a little painful. It was his eyes that swayed Grimmjow though, because though his face looked angry there was something in those dark eyes that looked uncertain. Ichigo suddenly cast his stare to the floor as he bit his lip subconsciously, and Grimmjow caught the movement, looking immediately instead to Ichigo's mouth.

"Alright."

Ichigo, conflicted, sat back at his desk, leaving Grimmjow standing there on the floorto watch the other rest his head in his hands, his body hunched over the table.

Grimmjow moved back to his former place, standing right behind Ichigo, and touched the back of his neck, where his hair was fine and short, not needing to ask for permission to do so or for clarification about that look in Ichigo's eyes; knowing some, if not all, of it already, though neither had said anything out loud, or even, really, to themselves. He wondered if this hair felt anything like his fur had done, to Ichigo. The warmth of Ichigo's skin spread through his fingers, and he tapped the bone of his mask with his other hand; a light, near-silent click that he only ever remembered doing when he was trying to distract himself from something that he did not want to think about.

Ichigo's voice was laced with denied emotion.

"This is so fucked up, you know that?"

He could feel the very top of Ichigo's spine shift as the boy spread his arms a little further on the desk, and resisted the urge to slip his fingers further down the back of his shirt, to see if the movements could be traced all the way down his body. His hands spread across Ichigo's shoulders, touching smooth and hot skin.

He stared up at the ceiling, eyes open but unseeing.

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet; nearly soft.

"Yeah, I know."


	10. Chapter Nine

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It could never be that easy!

**Chapter Nine**

Ichigo was struggling to make sense of the world. Had he been a few decades older, most people might have put his bizarre feelings and actions down to a mid life crisis: but here and now it seemed that he had adopted some strange habits without consideration of consequence, and even he could admit that to most people it would appear odd, even sinister. In the most unexpected turn of events, he had somehow ended up with a former-Espada as a visiting friend, an alliance with the shinigami that he did not want to break, and an honour to protect the town he lived in from threat.

The second two, undeniably, should have outweighed the first: in all names of duty, he should have eliminated Grimmjow as a threat a long time ago. Hell, he should have taken out the Menos the moment he had seen it, not let it grow until it grew in the Vasto-Lorde-Espada _nightmare_ that Ichigo was now friends with.

In an effort to try and make sense of everything, he actually resorted to talking to his father. After the initial avoidance of 'Daddy-love' that came from the realisation that his son wanted to have a meaningful conversation with him, and actually wanted advice from him, Isshin became strangely serious, almost enough to make Ichigo regret never conversing with him before. Well, you know. Only for a moment.

"You know when you fell in love with…"

He tailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Masaki's portrait, still large and attention-grabbing on the wall where his father had placed it with all the loving intention of a mourning-verging-on-hysterical husband. Isshin nodded, staring across at it as well, surprisingly quiet. There was something in his eyes that should have made Ichigo nervous- it was the look that, when he was a little boy, meant that he had done something wrong and was about to be scolded for it.

"What did it feel like, to know you were in love with someone that you couldn't be with?"

Isshin looked at him through narrowed eyes, that same expression still there, but slightly softened now, as if he had begun to understand, though Ichigo did not know how he could. His father? Perceptive? Please!

"Are you in love?"

Ichigo shook his head.

"Well, it wasn't like it was impossible, you know. I just had to make some sacrifices, that's all. Nothing is impossible, you of all people should know that."

"But, didn't people disapprove?"

Isshin shrugged.

"Not disapproval, not really. More disappointment, I think."

Ichigo nodded, slowly, and bit his lip. He supposed the difference between falling in love with a human and befriending an arrancar was a lot, really, in the long run. Shinigami protect humans, save them- they kill hollows, destroy arrancar. The Espada especially were their enemies. He had been surprised that he had been given no further word from Soul Society about the presence of a Vasto Lorde in the area, but he thought he probably had Ukitake's noticably pleasant character and the confusion of rebuilding the Soul Society to thank for that.

Luck, it seemed, was on his side. He supposed he owed it more than a few favours these days, didn't he? One day it would run out on him: he would have to keep his eye out for that.

"Why do you want to know?"

Ichigo shrugged again, universal sign for not being willing to answer, for still not quite understanding what it was he was asking himself. He scraped his chair back, and was half-way out of the door before his father's next question stopped him.

"Is it anything to do with your… visitor?"

Ichigo stilled.

"Who're you talking about?"

He turned to face Isshin, who was staring at him with an intensity that Ichigo had never seen outside of those strange moments in the War when he and his father had fought side by side, but though there was warmth in his eyes, Ichigo could not bring himself to relax.

"You know who I am talking about."

There was silence in the room, the tension almost tangible as father and son stared at each other from across acres of unspoken words and feelings and knowledge. They had always been too far apart for close conversations and loving embraces, having spent years awkwardly dancing around each other, never quite on the same page. A distance between them, but not one that either could transform into animosity.

"Son."

Ichigo broke their stare first, looking up at the ceiling.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I think so."

"Then I'm not going to stand in your way. Just don't do something stupid, that would get yourself in trouble. Your mother would never forgive me if you survived the war and then I let you get killed afterwards, you know. Seriously, she'd beat me up good when I catch up with her."

"You don't have to worry about that."

Isshin nodded, more to himself than to Ichigo, and with an abrupt change of character (as if deciding that he had been serious for far too long) launched himself at his son in a flying kick, which Ichigo easily knocked out of the way, spinning Isshin into the far wall.

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

Grimmjow stumbled down the road, bleeding. He slammed his own body against the wall of a building he passed, grunting in exertion as he tried to push himself off again following the momentum and instead only collapsed back against it, his hands digging into the pebble-dashed suburban façade and gouging new, deep lines into his palms. The creature that had come through from Hueco Mundo had not been what he had anticipated- rather than the not-particularly-strong hollow its reiatsu had indicated, he had been met by a shielded arrancar- and not a particularly weak one, at that.

Either he had been out of practise or he had not recovered all of his powers after transformation, but it had been too hard a battle not to have taken it out of him. Her zanpakuto had divided into four whips, edged with steel and each three meters long, and she had wielded them with a deadly accuracy. His body was cut all over with long, thin and painfully deep gashes, each one bleeding profusely. He hadn't even had the chance to kill her: as soon as the battle had started to turn (quickly, as soon as he got over his surprise, his pride had to remind him) she had opened a way back through to Hueco Mundo and had run away limping, her hair flying out behind her and one leg almost cleaved to the bone.

He had tried in vain to get back to the warehouse, where he could hole up and try and rest. Though normally after a fight he wouldn't have done anything like that, he had been struck of late that if changing back to a Vasto Lorde had been easier the second time around, then maybe reverting might be the same- and he really, really did not want to do that. Not just because it was something of an effort to go around changing forms, but also because the concentrated burst of power that would emerge would gain him far too much attention from those bastards upstairs.

He left smears of ghostly blood behind him that would terrify those spiritually aware citizens that might see them the next day.

Grimmjow stumbled from street to street, losing sense of direction as the pain began to recede. He straightened up as his path met that of the river, thick and sluggish and black with mud after the long summer. The recent storms had done much to supplement the flow, but the hot days had taken their toll, and it oozed in a way that was startlingly dissimilar to water.

He propped himself up against the underside of an arched bridge, shadowed almost to black. Cars went by overhead, the arcs of their lights tracing wide paths to either side of where he stood but never illuminating him. He flexed his shoulders and checked each wound: most had stopped bleeding, already coagulated with clotted blood that showed up a depressing dark brown in this light against his skin. Some were still dripping, and he grabbed river mud with three fingers and soothed it over them, trying to quench the flow. Bleeding to death in some stinking hole in the human world, of wounds given to him by a pathetic and coward of a foe, was not the way that he had ever intended to go.

"It isn't the end of us, you know," were the arrancar's words before she slid back through a ripped hole in the air, echoing on even after she had disappeared from view, "and we're not finished."

Grimmjow didn't know what that meant- had she been talking about the arrancar? Were there more of them? What were they doing?

The potential for the arrancar, if there were enough of them left, was outstanding. Losing the leadership of Aizen was only a blessing as far as he was concerned- what need did they have of him, who only oppressed and mutated them, when they could create their own glorious uprising and empire, could lead a revolution across the white sands, could do _anything _that they pleased? They would not be strong enough to take on the combined forces of the shinigami (he was proud, and would never have admitted that out loud, but he was not stupid) but they were enough to rule all of Hueco Mundo.

He would have been the strongest left, wouldn't he? Kurosaki had told him the others were dead.

He could be King.

Such thoughts were dashed from his mind as he rubbed his face, wiping grit into a slash and making him wince. He felt as if he were about to collapse, but an unbidden and terrifying thought almost knocked the wind out of him, made him start with horror. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he realised that there was no one in the world that he wanted to meet, no one that he only wanted to catch sight of, walking towards him.

What he _needed_, more than any desire or whim, was to see Ichigo.

He blinked, and slumped down against the filthy wall.

* * *

"Ishida!"

"What is it, Kurosaki?"

"Can we talk?"

The Quincy looked at him in surprise. Although they now spent a lot more time together than he had ever anticipated when they first met, he would hesitate to call the shinigami his friend, although he supposed that he was, if he was going to be honest about it. He normally tried not to think about it at all, just considering Chad to be a natural safety buffer between the two of them. Chad was safe and unassuming: it was easy to ignore his feelings about the shinigami when he was there to cool them both down.

"What about?"

Ichigo nodded his head towards an empty classroom, this obviously being one of those conversations that demanded secrecy. Once again, he had waited until after school, when he could be sure of privacy. Had it been another friend, or Urahara, he would have simply visited them at home, but he was pretty sure that he would not be welcomed into the house of the Last Quincy, no matter how many times he had saved the world to date. Hell, even _Ishida _wasn't really welcome in his family home, let alone the son of the irritating Isshin Kurosaki.

"It's about the Menos."

"I've not sensed it as often, if that's what you mean. It's like it has learned to suppress its spiritual pressure, but it cannot be anywhere near that advanced. I think it might be moving between several places at once."

Ichigo shook his head.

"It's already developed into a Vasto Lorde. And it _is _that developed."

Ishida sat heavily down on a chair, pushing his glasses up so his eyes were briefly obscured by reflected light.

"Damn."

He paused, his forehead creasing into a frown as a question obviously occurred to him.

"How do you know this?"

Ichigo closed his eyes and sighed, more to himself than to his companion. He still had not been able to figure out how to break this news, or how the Quincy would react to it, even after several weeks of thinking about it.

"Because… Because I've been meeting with him."

Instead of the white hot fury that he had expected, he simply got a bewildered stare.

"What?"

"Ishida…"

The other was staring at him now in deep consternation. He did not know what Ichigo was going to come out with next, but he had a feeling that he was not going to approve of it. And knowing Ichigo like he did, he was damn sure that this feeling was going to end up being proven right.

"It's Grimmjow."

There was the briefest of pauses.

"Are you out of your mind? How the hell is he here? I thought he was dead!"

"So did I, but somehow he's not. I don't really understand how, but… do you remember Nel, how when she was defeated she reverted into a child?"

"Well, yeah, so you told me."

"I think it was something like that. He got too weak, and lost too much spiritual power, so he receded back an evolutionary stage."

"And now he's come back? Isn't he trying to kill you?"

Ichigo scratched his nose.

"Actually… no. I'm surprised about that, too, you know. I thought he'd be back for revenge, but all we do is… talk. And hang out, and, you know… he's not so bad when he's not trying to fight."

"Ichigo, do you even understand the danger you are putting yourself in? Hell, the danger you are putting us all in?"

"I know, Ishida. But I think he's changed, you know?"

Ishida's look was narrow, sceptical.

"He tried to kill you. As I remember, he tried very hard, and nearly succeeded."

"If I was going to count that against everyone who has tried to kill me recently, then I wouldn't be sat here talking to you, would I? Or Renji, or Ikkaku, or half of the fucking Gotei 13."

"That's hardly the same."

"Why not? Damn it, but the edges get so blurred. I'm a Vizard. I'm closer to Espada than I am to shinigami. They're hollow with shinigami powers- I'm shinigami with hollow powers."

Ishida's eyes were cold, but his voice did not reflect it. In his own way, the Quincy actually sounded concerned.

"Kurosaki. You've never thought this way before. What's changed?"

"He changed."

There was a long silence, and Ishida rested his head on his steepled fingers, watching Ichigo, whose head was in his hands. There were a thousand thoughts running through his head at once, and he was not sure which to dismiss and which to focus on. The look in Ichigo's eyes was strange- if Ishida was to have to put a label on it, he would have to call them distressed. If he wasn't mistaken, then Ichigo was just as confused as Ishida himself was by this situation. When he broke the silence, it was with notable hesitance, and he pointedly did not leave it open for exposition.

"I don't know what the hell is going on between you and… you and the former Espada, but you need to get a grip on it, okay?"

Ichigo nodded, resting his head in his hands.

"And I'm not going to mention this to Soul Society."

The other looked up in surprise at that, and the Quincy shrugged his shoulders.

"I owe no allegiance to them."

Ishida sighed.

"But Ichigo, I hate to admit it, but you surpassed Chad and I a long time ago. If Grimmjow goes out of control, it is going to be you, it is going to be you that has to take him out. Do you think you can do that?"

Ichigo did not even have to think.

"If he does, then my feelings are disregarded. He will be killed. That is my duty, and it always has been. To protect Karakura."

Ishida nodded, and Ichigo rubbed his jaw, getting to his feet. Although the days were beginning to lengthen, the sun was still sinking low on the sky, and his family would be waiting for him. He started to leave, knowing that to stay would be to open himself up to further questioning.

"Kurosaki."

He paused in the doorway, to turn and look at his friend, who had not moved.

"Just… watch your back, alright? I don't want to see you get hurt by this guy, and hell, I don't want to have to take over your shifts."

Ichigo rested his hand on the wood of the doorframe, face taut in conflicted emotion.

"I know. Thanks, Ishida."

* * *

He saw it tucked underneath the mess of papers on his desk, a creamy and expensive envelope. It took him until he saw the elegant slope of his own name that he remembered who the letter was from: one Byakuya Kuchiki, of course, he never did open it, did he? It weighed in his hand, as if there were more than paper in there, though he knew from the feel of it that there wouldn't be. There was a mild thrill of trepidation as he broke the seal of the envelope and slid the paper out. Each word looked like an immaculate labour of art, and he suddenly understood why Renji complained so much about his Captain's standards for written work.

_Ichigo Kurosaki,_

_I have heard tell of the rumour that there is a hollow in your town that you have not disposed of yet. Though I do not normally take such idle talk as truth there is a part of you that seems to have a weakness of empathy, and I would urge you to challenge that as soon as possible if you wish to survive to a healthy age. Your luck in the Winter War was as much sheer fluke as it was your unerring stubbornness and refusal to die, as we both know well- your battles in the Soul Society before were just as much so. Do not believe you are invincible to any harm. I have known many people who have believed that nothing could defeat them, and it is no little hardship that teaches them otherwise. It would be unwise of you to assume anything about this hollow. _

_Captain Ukitake has been put in charge of watching over your town, but he can be too lenient at times, and it seems he is unlikely to force you to do the sensible thing. Although I do not approve of you, I must offer you this advice: do not let people that you care for die because of your own blindness. It is near impossible for gain forgiveness, for the likes of that- not from others, but from yourself. Rukia is alive now, and it was you who ensured that, in part. It is that, and nothing more, that prompts me to give you my counsel on this subject._

_Our last fight was inconclusive, I believe, and we shall draw blades against each other once more in the fullness of time, to see who is truly the stronger. For now, try not to die so soon._

_Byakuya Kuchiki_

Ichigo sat heavily on his bed, covering his eyes with his hand. How the man could charge such words with such heavy guilt and annoyance he didn't know, but it weighed on his conscious terribly. He thought he could trust Grimmjow, but why? Why was he so convinced that the other had only good intentions? What evidence was there for that?

He sighed, and pushed the letter back into the envelope, tearing the sides as he did so before shoving it underneath his bed, out of sight but nowhere near out of mind.

Grimmjow. Would he ever be able to trust the other completely, after all that they had been through? Was it that knowledge that always made it so hard to call Grimmjow 'friend'? Even in his own mind, he always jumped to 'Espada', 'companion', 'him'.

Only occasionally, in the very depths of his denied mind, to 'lover'.

More often than not, to 'danger'.

* * *

That night, when Grimmjow landed at his window, Ichigo was still sat up at his desk, staring blankly at his wall. He turned to look at the former Espada, who had sunk onto the bed, which was far more comfortable than the hard wood. Grimmjow looked back at him, no animosity in his eyes and only the raised eyebrows of a friend waiting for the other to speak, something which, during the war, Ichigo would have said was entirely impossible.

"What are you doing here, Grimmjow?"

He scowled at Ichigo in bemusment, obviously not understanding what he was asking.

"That's a fucking stupid question."

"No… I mean, what are you doing here? In the human world?"

There was a pause, and Grimmjow scratched his hollow mask.

"It was easier to harvest hollows here, that's all, and I needed to evolve back."

Ichigo nodded, as if he had been expecting this response.

"But, you and I both know that's bullshit. There are far more hollows in Hueco Mundo."

Grimmjow scowled, and shrugged.

"The fuck does it matter? Maybe I just got bored of that place."

Ichigo was still staring at him, and it unnerved him slightly.

"Are you staying here?"

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at him, and Ichigo suppressed a shiver.

"I don't know. I guess I don't have much reason to, do I, Ichigo?"

A thousand contradictory thoughts burned their way up Ichigo's throat, but turned to ashes in his mouth. What to say to that? Did he, in fact, have a right to say anything at all to that? Grimmjow was watching him keenly, but when nothing but a nod came from the other, he surged to his feet. Ichigo followed the movement of his body with his eyes until he came to the blue markings that stood out so starkly against the white of his skin, paler than normal with the full-moonlight drenching the room.

There was silence, as if Grimmjow was waiting for an answer, but when none came he seemed more infuriated than ever.

"Later, Shinigami."

He turned, showing Ichigo his back. To his horror, Ichigo felt himself raise his arm, as if to grab the back of his clothes, but Grimmjow was too far away, and Ichigo could not quite bring himself to reach out far enough, and Grimmjow did not turn around to look at him.

And then, in a moment, he was gone.

Ichigo's arm fell back to his side.

It was only the next day, as he thought the scene through again and again and again, that he realised Grimmjow had never called him 'Ichigo' before.


	11. Chapter Ten

This is very overdue, I apologise. I've had a massive writers block on this, but I'll get another chapter out by the end of the week before I go on holiday. Thank you to all of your lovely reviews and support.

**Chapter Ten**

_Nothing's wrong, just as long as you know that someday I will  
__Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it alright- but not right now  
_Nickelback

Ichigo didn't move for a long time after that, sitting back down and staring at his treacherous hand, glaring at it in anger: partly because it had tried to hold Grimmjow back from leaving, and partly for the fact that it had not managed to do so. He could almost feel the heat of Grimmjow's body underneath his clothes, as if it were internally heating his skin from inside, even though they hadn't made contact- in many ways, he supposed. The boy that still wasn't quite a man, if only in his inability to work out issues of emotional strain, stared at the black box that the window became as the darkness set down for the night in full. He didn't notice the deep groves that his nails were leaving in the skin of his palm under the pressure of his clenched fists until a few hours later, when he felt Grimmjow's spiritual power release in a vast spiral of air pressure, as if the very atmosphere was contracting and stretching and reforming around him. The immense difference in it was startling: Ichigo knew the feel of Grimmjow's normal power, or had- he supposed that since he had re-emerged from an apparent death the former-Espada had kept it so tightly concealed that its new feeling had the potency to take Ichigo by surprise.

It rippled across his skin and made his hairs stand on in end in recognition of the source, but it filled him only with a deep and involuntary anger, because it was as if Grimmjow no longer cared to conceal it, as if he didn't mind if he was captured. He should have been more careful, his mind screamed, though he still was unsurprised when, moments later, it vanished entirely. And that was it.

He had gone.

Back to Hueco Mundo, Ichigo had to presume, because where else was there for a former Espada to escape to? Where else was there with no death order hanging over that not-inconspicuous head of blue hair? He could hardly have gone running into the Soul Society- what, to find relief and comfort from one of the other shinigami he had tried to murder? Seeking in refuge in the prison cells wouldn't make sense even to a madman. But he supposed that the where didn't matter, just the fact that he had, that he was out of Ichigo's life, for good, without a doubt- he was pretty sure that such a blatent and obvious indication of his leaving was made as a final, vindictive blow, a crass and characteristic jab to remind Ichigo of what an ass he was being. Petty revenge from the former-Espada, perhaps, but maybe he deserved it.

And all of a sudden, Ichigo wished that he could feel relief at being alone. Just a little bit. Shouldn't it be easier without Grimmjow around?

For certain, it would all be remarkably less complicated now, wouldn't it? No more worrying about what the shinigami would say when they found out, no more worrying about what was going to happen to them both, no more worrying about Grimmjow changing his mind and ripping Ichigo to shreds as he lay in what he thought to be unthreatened danger. Now he could get back to normality, that normality he had fought the war for and earned and had then found… found boring, until Grimmjow had padded his way back into it, in all his cat-like glory and with all his mocking and somehow _knowing _laughter, as if he could see right into Ichigo's mind and knew just what he was thinking, just what emotions were running through his mind and body. That look that could, on those strange and surreal nights, make him almost feel vulnerable. That look that sometimes made him want to cry, at the same time as it made him want to laugh.

That look that scared him, at the same time as it made him feel as if he could touch the sky, brush the clouds that obscured the blue away.

But right now, he couldn't do that. He couldn't sit around and wait for things to go backwards, not when he had striven for so long to move the world _forwards. _Right now he had to focus on getting things sorted, on getting on with his life, and that was why he levered himself out of bed the next morning and into the bathroom, even though his body was screaming for him to go back to sleep and pretend that reality was not happening. It was a tempting thought, just to curl up underneath his covers in the soft and warm dark and act as if he was a child again. But he did not, for he had spent too many years being strong to let go of that now. He had saved the world, for the love of providence! He wouldn't hide away like some scared child.

But when it came to it and Ichigo straightened up, hands clenched around the cool enamel of the bathroom sink, he could only glare at his reflection in the mirror. He could feel the heavy weight of what his hollow and zanpakuto wanted to say to him, but for some reason they had not yet said anything about the situation he had found himself in. Without that temperate and patronising voice issuing from the old man nor the manic cackles of that bastard hollow, he was left feeling strangely alone. He could feel the cool tiles of the bathroom floor against his feet but it was a disjointed sensation, as if he were slightly separate from his body, not quite connected: the same sort of feeling that you get when you lightly run a finger over deep scar tissue, when most of the nerves have gone and there is only the ghostly hint of a touch to make you shiver. Almost as if someone was walking over your grave.

There were blue eyes staring back at him from the glass, and he blinked, and they were gone, and as if the glass itself were betraying him he was suddenly and hopelessly furious.

The sort of fury that takes hold of you, squeezes you tight.

Doesn't let you go. He raised his fists.

His family mentioned nothing to him the next morning, and if he received any sympathetic looks from them he did not see them. When Isshin caught sight of the bandage around Yuzu's finger, she lied and told him that she had cut herself slicing and dicing in the kitchen that morning: by mid-afternoon she had already had the bathroom mirror replaced in its broad wooden frame. The still-fresh and bloody slashes on Ichigo's fists had left rusted streaks across his bedcovers, so she stripped the bed down and washed it all, wondering what had happened. It didn't look as if he had even noticed the stains. She didn't ask Ichigo why he had smashed that old mirror, just cleaned up after him as best as she could and hoped that that would be enough.

Karin was equally bewildered by the sudden change in her brother, but kept out of his way, knowing for now he did not need to hear what she thought of mood-swing. Isshin had no such reservations about tackling the problem (literally, most of the time) but to all of their consternation Ichigo remained impossibly barred, his thoughts shut away but not by any means invisible as the day wore on and the cloud over him seemed to grow darker and darker.

Ichigo did not notice their concern: it fell from him with a complete lack of regard, as if it were a drop of water clinging onto a sheen of leather from which it would soon slip. He went out into the damp and chill air of that Sunday afternoon and glared at all and sundry that crossed his path, from hapless children to trees, as if they could help being there. The weather itself seemed to be conspiring to worsen his mood, misty-cloud hanging low and periodically stopping and starting a hissing and fine rain that left his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, the white fabric of his tee-shirt turning the colour of flesh. He wandered until he reached the warehouse, though he did not go inside: he knew that Grimmjow would not be there. He stood outside for a moment before frustration and introverted irritation got the better of him, and he kicked at puddles furiously even though it did nothing to ease his desperate fury.

What was he angry at?

He didn't think he could even remember anymore. He could only remember the feeling, that inexplicable conviction of emotion that he couldn't deny. He found a bench as the afternoon grew darker, staring blankly out at the world as if it was as grey and lifeless as the weather. Things just didn't seem right. He felt desolated, almost like someone had reached inside him and scraped out something vital: now he was empty. He went home and fell straight into bed without eating, before the night had properly set. He slept.

He woke. He slept. He woke. On and off he lay on his bed, tossing and turning as dreams wracked his body. Sometimes he jolted out of nightmares, shivering and terrified for reasons that he could barely remember, let alone explain, other times with his body a coiled wire and his covers tented across his throbbing and near-painful erection.

His dreams that night were of taut and tanned flesh, sometimes slicked with the blood of battle, others with the sweat of sex. If he felt uncomfortable with picturing Grimmjow like that his subconscious did not register it, for it had been imagining for too long as he slept before that great cat had come into his life with its majestic and powerful, domed head and too-surreal fur. Now his dream-hands knew the planes of Grimmjow's body as well as he knew his own, and thought he was red with rage and embarrassment as he woke those he felt on fire in his sleeping wakefulness. That dream-Grimmjow had his blue and brilliant eyes, and they did not change between scenes of battle and bed: always they burnt with that fire that he had when roused in complete and devastating passion. He had a flush on his cheeks and bared chest in that lovely and heady moment he crawled up Ichigo's body, that lay as if it were boneless though it was hot with riveted feeling and emotions tightening his chest until it felt that he might break and die or burst into a crackling explosion of electric static.

He gave in to the ache around three in the morning, and stood in a short, lukewarm shower as he wrapped a fist around his erection and gave himself an unsatisfying finish as water trickled between his shoulder-blades.

He did not towel himself down afterwards, and the drops dried on his skin and made him shiver as he opened the window and pulled himself up onto the sill, towel still tight around his waist. He sat down on the edge, feet flat on his bed as he curved his spine backwards and stared up at the sky. It was still clouded over; he could see no stars.

_I wanna go to a place where the sky is a million pin-pricks. _

I want to go to a place where I can forget him. If only it were possible.

* * *

Grimmjow crouched low on the rough and ill tempered sand of Hueco Mundo and let his eyes fall closed for just a moment. He was exhausted, though he refused to rest. The ache in his muscles and the pain in the bottom of his skull were a distraction enough for now from the past.

He was well used to the strain of moving with great speed on a constantly shifting surface: this was the place that he knew, the place that he could understand and that understood him in turn: what need was there for those fucking humans when he could rule here? And he could rule here- he knew he could. If he could just find those last lingering arrancar, those few that had survived… then he would have his own army again. But first he needed to go back to Las Noches, back to where he belonged. Fucking Karakura. That whole place could rot in hell, and he hoped they would scream as loudly as the rest of the Espada were doing down there as the flames swallowed them. He half-wished Aizen had done a better job, and reduced it down to fucking ashes, but that bastard was dead now too, no doubt in his own special pit, reserved just for people like him. In his dreams Ulquiorra's stupid, green tear-track-marked skin peeled back off the bone. That orange hair could crisp as well as that painfully white skin for all he cared.

Fuck them all. They could burn.

_This _was home.

He stared around the desolated wilderness as he pushed his tired limbs to standing again. No colour, no leaves, no buildings: only the crystallised trees and endless white sands, just how he liked it. No clutter, no mess, nothing in the way of the battlefield. Colour that would show up the blood, that would make you proud for ever scar earned and every gash given. The one thing that he had thought he had liked though, about that world, was those hazy and distant places that bastard shinigami had called the Kitami range, those mountains that rose in a great purple-brown mass from the flatness of the city-horizon as if they were rearing beasts, out to consume the sky. Far too big to be real, or so they seemed, far too impressive to not make him want to give into that strange itch that they gave him, an itch to get to the top of them, to see what that vantage point would give him. It was stupid- he could walk on the freaking _air_, couldn't he? What the hell did he need to stand on rock for? But they had been something else entirely, something totally different to what he knew. Mountains. Something that, no matter how hard he tried, he knew he could never have destroyed.

The thought made him shiver.

He wasn't used to things that he couldn't beat.

He was miles from Las Noches but not too far at his pace, and he didn't care so much right now, anyway: the time it would take him to get there would ease the inexplicable ache in his chest, that ache that he had no name for.

But he could see it already, casting a great shadow around its own tall and great internalised world. The walls of the old palace loomed in the distance, ruinous, parts caved in. They looked from this distance like jaws, reaching out to swallow him in, but he stepped into that cold and carnivorous embrace without concern or regard, though a shiver stood the hair on the back of his neck on end, a cool graveyard air crisping his skin. There were still ghosts lingering here, if only in memory, ghosts of those creatures whose dreams were too big and whose hopes were too black. And he was one of them, he knew. This was where he deserved to be, among those who were dead and full of rage. Because he was, wasn't he? He felt sometimes as if he was being eaten alive by the force of his fury, as if it would take him over and he would only be some great mass of energy. He was one of the dead, too: he had scraped his way past the inevitable end, and knew well that he was living on borrowed time.

He stopped and spat on the blazing four as he passed it.

He had forgotten how much he had hated this place.

It took Grimmjow about an hour to find that cavernous space that had once been reserved for the Sexta. It was not a room in the same sense that Kurosaki's room was his own: it was as white and as impersonal as the rest of those vast and echoing corridors and places of state. He had heard that some of the Espada had made those bland sleeping spaces their own, but he had never seen them: he had more sense that to try and poke his head around Nnoitra's door, for who knew what he got up to in his spare time, or to seek out what was going on in the Octava's labs (he didn't mind blood on his blade, but those dissected corpses and jarred pieces of 'interest' always gave him the creeps). His room was miraculously clear of rubble, but there was nothing in there to ruin, anyway. In fact, the only piece of furniture was his bed, built into the wall, standard issue. He had broken everything else, throwing it around in anger or disintegrating it in acts of uncontrollable rage.

It was fucking good to be home.

He sat on the bed, scowling. Before he knew it, he had curled up, and was sound asleep. The light had not changed when he woke again, several hours later, but Pantera was talking softly in his mind, almost singing in her pleasant growling tone. He realised with a start that she was happy to be here. There was too much energy in the human world, so much that sometimes it felt as if the ground itself was shivering. Here it was dead, solid.

You knew where you were, here.

* * *

Days passed in the human world, fading from one into the other. Ichigo spent the days glaring around him and speaking only in monosyllables unless distracted out of his dark moods. He threw himself around his bed at night as he tried to sleep, drifting so that he woke up exhausted after being jolted awake by the sound of Grimmjow's voice, in his head, over and over. It took him a moment, the first time, to realise that the pain in his chest was disappointment- he had hoped that the voice was real, that Grimmjow was sitting on his windowsill again, laughing pointedly at the boy with all the derision he could muster but lacking that tone that would have made him sound particularly callous or cruel. But the windowsill was always empty, the night sky was always bereft of any glimpses of shocking blue.

That specific dream came back, the dream he had not had since Grimmjow had first appeared to him in all his reincarnated, resurrected glory. The dream of eyes, watching him; but now he knew the eyes, and he knew the face, and he could connect them to the laughter. He dreamt of skin and touches, of wet mouths and aching arousal. Now there was more for him to link to that dream, and so it was more potent than ever before as it was coupled with his frustration. Sometimes he could see the flash of Grimmjow's Desgarron and feel the blood drip down his body, but most of the time it was those hands he could not escape, those rough hands that ran over his skin with a nimbleness and assurance, with firm force and frightening tenderness. They were warm with a heat that he knew from waking life, came with unspoken promises and feelings and hope.

And dread, sometimes, too.

He left his body and went outside many times, searching Karakura even though he knew that he wasn't there. He saw Chad in the distance, but the other did not approach, as if he knew that Ichigo did not want to talk at that moment. The voices in his mind, too, were quiet, although he was sure that they were disapproving. Zangetsu knowing he was a fool was one thing: the old man had always been the wisest of the three, the most sure, but that somehow disappointed silence from the hollow was unnerving. It made him feel all the more like he had done something spectacularly idiotic.

He went back to bed disappointed, every time.

When Ichigo eventually did manage to slip into any significant sleep, it was only for a few hours before he was woken up for school. Each morning he showered cold, trying to rid the ache of tiredness from his limbs and the effect that the dreams had taken on his body. The freezing water quickly dissipated his swollen and hard erection, and scowling to himself he went to school, still yearning and still angry and still thinking of Grimmjow.

On that first Monday Ishida had taken one look at his face and had left it alone. He too had recognised the spiritual pressure that night, and no doubt had worked out what it had meant. Unluckily, Keigo noticed Ichigo, although whether it was more unlucky for Keigo or for Ichigo it is debatable.

"Ichigo! What's wrong?"

The boy had turned a glare onto his questioning classmate and said nothing, but the intensity of the dark look was enough to send him weeping into the opposite corner of the room. Ignoring the inevitable wails coming from his friend, he had rested his head against the wood of the desk. Over his head, Chad gave Uryuu a knowing look, and the Quincy was suddenly struck with the assurance that their mutual friend knew a lot more than he was letting on about Ichigo's recent activity. And why shouldn't he? He was just as spiritually aware as the rest of them, and in his own quiet way, knew Ichigo a lot better that Ishida did. Ichigo might not have confided this to him, but Chad had ways of guessing at least something. He had always reminded Ichigo of Yuzu in that respect, and the knowing looks that his sister gave him over silent breakfasts spoke more than any other comment of concern that he received over those weeks.

Their near-silent friend had rested a hand on Ichigo's shoulder, a small piece of comfort that meant a lot, when it was coming from Chad. Ichigo did not respond but for a heavy sigh.

It soon became obvious to everyone that there was something decidedly wrong with Ichigo Kurosaki. The last few weeks, although he could never really be described as an outwardly happy person, he had been far more upbeat than everyone had seen him in a while, even if he had shadows under his eyes from too many late nights. Over the next weeks, though, Ichigo became sullen, listless. He stared out of the window during class, and although he did not start skipping lessons, he might as well have been doing so for the attention he was paying to the teachers. He stopped talking to people, responding to questions in grunts if he had to, or simply shrugged.

Something was wrong, and he was not planning on talking about it.

Person after person tried: Tatsuki was close to slapping him in her frustration when Orihime pulled her away, smiling gently and telling him that she would be there to talk to him though knowing that he would not take her up on it. Renji and Rukia, called by the worried girl, both tried to get some sense out of him. Unfortunately for Ichigo, they were remarkably persistent, and in the end Chad had had to intervene to tell them, politely, that they should probably leave Ichigo alone right now.

They had agreed, although still worried. There really was very little that they could do, though: they had very little time that they could spend on leave in the human world, and soon had to leave, though not without reminding Ichigo that he still hadn't responded to Byakuya's letter, which he refused to think about.

Ishida himself was concerned, and couldn't help but think that the two who had suspicions about the problem were the two most unable to help: Chad, because he struggled to equate into words what he felt, and Ishida, who had learnt from an early age to suppress worries, and so knew little about talking about them. In fact, he noticed then that Ichigo had inadvertently surrounded himself with people that were unable to fully voice their feelings: Orihime had spent too long by herself, Rukia too long with a brother who disapproved of such things, and Renji had always tried too hard to gain respect and an equal footing to ever admit that he may have been lacking or hurting in some way or another.

Ichigo wasn't right, and none of them could help him.

Although, he had to admit, he had not thought that the problem had got to this point until Grimmjow had left. He had assumed that he had Ichigo shared some mutual bond, perhaps as a result of all their battles. Perhaps the two of them had talked about things that his other friends found difficult: the war, finding yourself allied inadvertently to a side that you have never quite understood, being controlled, always having to fight to prove yourself, things like that, those sorts of things that they _shared,_ but now…

Well, now he was convinced that it was something more, and he had absolutely no idea how to make it any better.

* * *

Grimmjow still had not found anyone, though he was searching further and further a field every day for those apparently still existing arrancar. He would have begun to give up hope, but for those flickers of spiritual power that he felt on occasion on the far outskirts of where he could sense: he never ran after it, for he was beginning to understand that they were testing him, and he would not fall prey to these tricks of his unknown comrades-of-creation. Instead he began to search in the opposite direction to that hint of power, knowing the way that these sort of games were played, although he himself had never bothered to do such things.

He never let him think of those few months of madness in Karakura, and that is how they considered it: insanity. He still did not know what he had been doing, dancing so close to the enemy, to his rival and the bastard who had near-killed him. So what if he had caught him from the sky? Just because he could still remember the feeling of those arms around him as he lay half in consciousness, that didn't mean that he had any reason to owe him anything, did it?

No, of course not.

So when he lay in sleepless rest and stared up to the dark sky, he never thought of Ichigo, or of that horrific fights, or those long, warm nights spent talking and walking. He never thought of that time Ichigo towelled his hair dry, or those conversations, or the way that his skin had felt underneath his fingertips and his touched Ichigo's neck, knowing full well that he shouldn't be doing it.

No. He never thought of it at all.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Grimmjow finally caught that damned arrancar that he had fought in Karakura a few days later, when she crept too near to him, and like an insignificant insect drawn in too close to the flame of his displeasure she did not get away without a few burns to warn the rest. Learning to suppress his spiritual power so completely in the human world had its benefits: it seemed that, if he was careful, he could sneak right up on them and they wouldn't notice- in fact, she had started so badly in shock that it looked as if she was jumping right out of her skin. He had tickled the underside of her chin with Pantera, but the coward had refused to fight, only smiling at him and congratulating him on making the right decision to return.

"You know, Sexta, those humans are weak, and foolish. Think of the way that they treat their own world, the way currency evades politics, the way they form alliances that shatter under a heartbeat or mistaken word. We've watched them, you know. Not all of us had the close attention of Aizen to distract us. There is no threat to their armies anymore, no honour for their soldiers unless they die. Great explosions decide the battlefield, dropped from the sky, not the strength of your arm and your sword and your drive to win. You never could have fitted in, there. They would have gotten to you in the end, driven you to giving up all that you hold close to you, giving up Pantera, even. It is here where you belong, here where your blade is welcome, your leadership needed."

"Then why the games?" he had found himself needing to ask, "Why not just come and find me and take me to wherever you've slunk off to like kicked rats? Why not return to Las Noches?"

The arrancar shook her head, smiling despite the steel.

"You're still dwelling on that place, we can see it in your eyes. Like the former Tres, too- we thought about using her, but she's not ready yet."

She took a cautious step backwards and he let her, though he kept a weary eye on her as she shook her head back and forth, covering her expression with the moving fall of her hair. It was meant to distract him, but he barely noticed it. He was too focused on her hands, waiting to see when she would reach for her zanpakuto. Unlike some, the attempted wiles of the other gender had never been much of a distraction for him.

"There are some of us who don't think that we need you, who think that you are never going to be ready. They say you're too changed, that this isn't your world anymore- but I know that it is!"

She grabbed for his arm with both her hands, holding his fist tight and pressing it against her sternum, so hard that it much have hurt her to feel it there. It would bruise, he could tell already. Her skin was hot to the touch, as if she were ill, or burning up from the inside. He felt a little uneasy then, as she turned her pleading expression back to him.

"I believe in you, Jaegerjaquez-sama! I watched you fight Kurosaki from a distance, and I know what you're capable of, and it is more than any of us. We need you, please! Please, just _come back._"

"I am back, you fucking idiot. Do you not see me standing here?"

He wrenched his hand back and levelled his blade once more, scowling even deeper than before. This whining brat was getting on his nerves now, and it almost made him wish that he hadn't caught her. What the hell was her problem? He was stood right in front of her, for fucks sake! How much more could you be 'back', huh? And what was this bullshit about being changed, about Hueco Mundo not being his world? Of course it was- it was all he could ever remember. Las Noches was his fort, those endless white sands his skyline, _and that was all he fucking needed!_ This, right here, not steel-and-glass-and-concrete buildings, not roads and grass and gardens, not Ichigo-fucking-Kurosaki or anything from freakin' Karakura: why should this little shit deny him the right to call this place his home? And if his sleep was so punctuated by images of that living world, then what was that to her? None of her business! He pushed his zanpakuto a little closer into her neck, watching it indent the skin before a fine line of blood could be seen oozing out from underneath.

Pantera was growling in his head, part in pleasure at the pain he was causing, part in growing annoyance. The stupid bitch looked up at him, and her eyes were drowning in desperation.

"But you're still thinking of there! We can tell! You're slower than you were, you don't notice us until we're too close! You're distracted, just like the former Tres! You can't deny that you are."

Grimmjow bit back the retort coming up like bile in his throat, burning as it went, that maybe it was just resurrection that had limited his powers, but he swallowed it back. His pride was still too fragile to admit that out loud, and besides, this woman was half-crazed already. Who could know how she'd react to the news, and right now, he just wanted to get rid of her. Besides, it might not be true- personally, he just thought he had gotten out of practise.

He looked at her properly, and realised that she looked no way near as well as the arrancar he remembered had done: in fact, she looked half-starved. Her uniform was ripped, though still the purest white but for rusted marks, some fresher and still that distinctive alizarin red (after all, what was there in this world to stain the fabric other than blood?). The whites of her eyes were too bright, her flush almost feverous, and the jut of her wrist stuck out too far to be healthy. He swore under his breath. She was pathetic, and knowing his luck the rest would be just as bedraggled, just as emaciated, just as much of a mess as this one was. He had hoped for strength, he had hoped for some sort of dignity, but she was neither. He was oddly reminded of the rag-tag group of hollows that used to trail him wherever he went, back when he was that great, cat-like beast the first time, only he owed no bond of alliance to these arrancar other than a similar birth-right.

He had no reason to care.

She disgusted him.

But then his mind slipped back to something that she had said, something that had gone over his head the first time but now made him blink in recognition.

"The former Tres? Where is she?"

The arrancar's lip curled, into a sneer.

"We let her go again. She's pathetic, just some little powerless creature who whines on about that damned shinigami bastard over and over again. She's no use to us, at all. I think even if we were to force her to change back, she would not help us."

Grimmjow nodded. That sounded like the person Kurosaki had described to him, alright. Against his will, he wondered about her welfare: not because he himself was concerned, but because Kurosaki had gone on so often, wondering about where she was and if she was okay and what she was doing. He hated himself for a moment when he realised that he was thinking like that, but ignored the mess of emotions inside him and turned back to the arrancar, who was already trying to slink away. He was suddenly furious, not only at himself but at this girl, at this place, at the whole fucking world.

He pulled back Pantera, even though she was as enraged as he was and was screaming for blood, her normally calm voice transformed into a howl that echoed around his own mind. He involuntarily tightened his hand around the hilt of his zanpakuto, baring his teeth. Her eyes went wide with sudden fear and realisation that she may have pushed something too far. Though she knew well the danger of the Sexta's volatile temper, it had not occurred to her that he might take it out on her, not when there were so few of them left and he had been looking for them for so long. She swallowed nervously as his pupils dilated.

He glared at her, knowing that he shouldn't kill her. But hurt her, to let the others get the message that he wasn't any weaker than he had ever been before? Blood and gore was the language that Las Noches had taught her mutilated children, her bastard loves, and this might well be the most potent word that he could send back.

He gave her one final message, each word punctuated with a slicing gash to the exposed skin of her arms, her legs, her chest, her face. If she had thought that it would be a short message, if she had believed that he would show her mercy after the first few, she was sadly mistaken. He cut quick and deep to the bone, eyes narrowed into feral concentration, bright with some depraved mixture of anger and enjoyment.

"Tell your little group of idiots from me, eh? Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is not done here, not done with any of you. You're worthless, you're _nothing _to me whilst you're this pathetic. One day I'm going to come and find you, and when I do, you'd better be worth something. Learn to fight. Learn to survive. But for now, leave me the fuck alone."

She fell to the floor, whimpering. Blood slicked her skin, worse where cuts met and intersected, opening up x-shaped slashes of cardinal red flesh that would scar ugly. She glared up at him with venom but there was no depth to it, and she looked as scared as she felt. To her credit she didn't cry out in pain but for the occasional yelp when Pantera cut across a particularly tender part of her. She did not get to remain there long: as soon as he was done he fisted a hand in her stained and ruined uniform and pulled her to her feet, not caring for how much it hurt her.

"Now, get the hell away from me."

There was not much white to her uniform, anymore. A new colour had bled through the fabric, turning the isabelline purity to persimmon brightness. He liked it, he decided as he watched her limping off. If ever he were to lead these creatures in battle, the uniform they would wear would be that shade of red. Fuck all this white. There was too much of it here, too many shades of ivory fading through to a blank canvas that made him think too much of death.

He spat in the sand, and turned back to his dilapidated ruins.

Pantera had calmed down a little now but her hair was still on end as she prowled around his mind. The landscape here was changing, and it made her feel a little uncomfortable: once it had been nothing but vast darkness, but then it had become a desert of sand like Hueco Mundo but punctuated with rivers of blood that all lead to some far off source of power that they were striving for, but it had always been flat. Now, in the far distance, mountains were looming upwards, and each day they were growing closer. These were hills of discontent, crags of confusion: what had seemed straightforward to Grimmjow once was now becoming complicated, convoluted.

She didn't like it, but had to admit that a less narrow minded approach to life might benefit Grimmjow in this new world that he had breached. She worried for him though, for she had always felt just a little strangely maternal towards her sometimes-so-lost wielder. She hoped these mountains were for the best, but now they were only making him struggle to understand what he wanted, though she could see it clearly. He didn't understand why he felt so strange around Kurosaki, she knew that, but she had hoped that he wouldn't act so characteristically, and run away from it. He would never admit to being a coward, but when it came to matters of his ill-understood heart, she knew that he was lost.

Their shadows were creeping closer: soon she would be able to pad through the foothills. She wondered what she would see, if she climbed high enough. Eternity, perhaps? The scope of Grimmjow's life? Or else, just more mountains, more questions, more paths of the heart to climb, reaching away into the mists of the horizon?

He had spent too long paying no heed to those whispered words that his heart tried to tell him, too long had his mind been focused only on victory and battle and misguided pride. The sudden onrush of all these ignored feelings was startling.

No wonder he was so confused.

Grimmjow himself hit his head against the white and broken walls of the place that he could never truly call a home, trying to clear the image of that boy out of his head.

He swore, if he ever saw that damned Kurosaki again, this time, he was going to kill him.

* * *

Things did not improve for Ichigo. It wasn't like the end of the Winter War, he soon came to realise: it wasn't like when all his shinigami and vizard associates were gone, because he had not felt it so keenly from the start. That boredom and abstracted loneliness that he had never quite been able to explain had crept up on him then, slow as slow can be. This had been much more intense, though he hadn't been fighting for the continued existence of humanity in this situation. But Grimmjow's visits had kept increasing until he had been coming almost every night, and all of a sudden Ichigo found himself at a loss as to what to do with himself. There had been things that he had thought of and saved to talk to Grimmjow: he struggled to relax in the same way around anyone else. Now those thoughts and anecdotes crowded his head, and he had no way to release them. No-one understood the way he did- they had both, in different circumstances, been forced into a corner to fight from: Grimmjow under the title of Espada, under the rule of Aizen and the superiority of five others. Ichigo had been thrown headfirst into a war without anyone asking if he really even should have had anything to do with it.

He felt it was his duty to protect Karakura, to rescue Rukia and Inoue, but otherwise... he had been backed into a corner where the only way out was to join in on one side or another, and a part of him was still seething about that. Grimmjow understood his annoyance. Grimmjow even, in his own way, understood Ichigo's fear of his own power, and the two that bore it in his mind. Zangetsu and the hollow for now remained absent in voice, something which only made him more on edge as the weeks rolled by.

He missed Grimmjow.

It had taken him a while to come to terms with the fact that he did, but it was true. He remembered the time that he had dried Grimmjow's hair with his towel: there was no-one else in the world that he would have been willing to do that for (except his sisters, but that didn't count, because there wasn't much that he _wouldn't_ do for them), and he didn't even fucking know why he felt that way. It was moments like those that had made him feel as if there wasn't _anyone _else in the world. He wondered if he was becoming irrational, all of these feelings clouding his judgement, but knew that it wasn't so: if anything, things seemed to make more sense to him now: he cared for Grimmjow, as something like a friend-but-almost-more. He missed him, which was natural. The only disturbing part of it was when his dreams confused the blood and heat of their battles with a wholly other sort of heat, but he was beginning to accept that love and death would always be irretrievably tangled in his mind whenever he thought of Grimmjow.

Love and death, pain and beauty. The dreams continued, becoming more intense. Hands, mouths, eyes. Blue, white, sometimes the spatter of red blood in his memory. One night he woke up with his hands pressed to place where Grimmjow's Pantera had first broken his skin, as if he were putting pressure on a long healed wound. Another time he found them around his throat.

The urge to talk to Grimmjow became stronger and stronger. He gritted his jaw against it, and snarled to himself for being so weak, but as the noise reminded him of Grimmjow's Adjuchas-class form, he stopped himself. Pathetic, he knew, but he could not avoid it, no matter how hard he fought it. Though he did not realise it, it was becoming more and more distressing for those around him to watch him. The shadows under his eyes grew darker, his silences deeper. It got to the point where Ishida was forced into action, being the only one who knew the full extent of what was going on. They had just had an art class, and Keigo, trying to scare his beloved ladies, wiped blue paint across his eyes like war paint or tribal markings, and Ichigo had snapped, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him up against him, scowling. Keigo had stammered, looking actually scared. Ishida, calm in every crisis, had tapped Ichigo on the shoulder, effectively distracting him enough for Keigo to scurry away, and pulled him out of the classroom, despite the teacher's bewildered protest

There, he had slapped him across the face.

Blinking, Ichigo swallowed down his protest, and agreed to meet the Quincy after school. Lingering by the school gate, he cursed Ishida his interference.

"Kurosaki. You need to get a grip."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, obviously. Listen to me, okay? You need to forget about him."

Ichigo surged up from where he had been leaning against the wall in one fluid motion spurred by frustration.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Chad's voice, from behind him, interrupted. He had obviously turned back to talk to them both, presumably having been told by Ishida that they were going to be there. The crowds of students had trickled away into nothing: the three of them were alone.

"Yes, you do. Grimmjow."

Neither of them had heard him approach, and Ichigo tried to stop himself scowling to hide his confusion. His voice was hot with embarrassment, although he did not mind so much Chad knowing: his friend knew a lot about the ins and outs of his life, and though he never would have outwardly expressed it, Ichigo supposed that Chad was bound to know more about Ichigo than Ichigo himself realised. Such is the manner of friends who are so quiet, but who see so much.

"How do you know about that?"

Chad shrugged a shoulder. "Saw him, when I was on my shift. Just nodded at me, and slipped away."

Ichigo's shoulders sagged, and he fell back against the wall again, slumping to the ground with his knees up. For some reason, it frustrated him that Grimmjow had not told him that- he would have been much less anxious about discovery if he had known, and he wasn't worried that Chad knew, anyway: whilst Ishida wouldn't tell the Soul Society because he owed them nothing but the devastation of his whole race, Chad's alliance was simply to Ichigo, not to the Gotei 13. But why hadn't Grimmjow been more careful, why hadn't he warned him? He felt strangely betrayed, though he couldn't for the life of himself explain why. These emotions were obviously showing on his face, because Ishida sighed, and pushed his glasses up his nose with the end of his finger. He had to ask the question, and in all honesty, he was glad that Chad had arrived, in case he needed to restrain their mutual friend.

"Ichigo… were you and he-" he coughed to hide his embarrassment as the glass of his spectacles flashed, "were you and he lovers?"

Ichigo blanched white and blinked furiously, in shock. "What? What the hell makes you think that?"

"Because you're pining like a love-sick school girl. It's pathetic… and if he could see you now he would have thought so to."

Ichigo's glare deepened in irritation, splitting his forehead into a crease that was becoming near-permanent. It was on the tip of Uryuu's tongue to tell him that if he wasn't careful his face would stick like that, but since Ichigo looked as if he were about to jump to his feet to knock the raised eyebrow right of the Quincy's face, he resisted.

"Go to hell, Ishida. And don't fucking talk about him like he's dead."

Chad stared pointedly at the overcast sky, obviously a little discomforted with this line of conversation.

"Would you have liked to have been?"

Ichigo felt a lump rise in his throat at that question. He did not know the answer to that one, he really didn't. It was difficult, and painfully complicated, although the tightness in his chest whenever Grimmjow had moved just a little bit too near might have made up for that in the long run. He could still taste the cold air from that night on the roof, when Grimmjow had leant so close that they were nearly touching. He could still look up, sometimes, and see him there, sitting on the windowsill, that particular grin on his face, and each time for a moment he was fooled by the illusion, and felt hopelessly happy. When he looked at his wrist, he remembered when Grimmjow had grabbed it to pull him along quicker, and it had felt like fire all the way up his arm. Those few weeks had filled him suddenly with a thousand new memories that crowded his mind, and he did not know what to do with them, where to put them. They terrified him, and made him feel hopelessly contented, all at once.

He remembered when he had leant in, so very close, to see the scar on his lip. He could still feel Grimmjow's hand at his throat, just resting on his skin. He still woke up with the dreams, the dreams that kept coming to him, night after night.

His voice was low, and he stared at the floor.

"What does that matter? He's gone now, anyway."

"Would you have liked to have been, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo said not a word, only gave the tiniest of shrugs, barely perceptible. That minute answer was enough for his friends: no protestation or complete denial said only one thing, as far as they were concerned. Chad and Uryuu shared their own nod, of mutual understanding, with Ichigo not looking. Though they had not spoke of this, they had already silently decided what Ichigo had to do.

"Go, then."

Ichigo looked up, confused beyond words. Both of his friends stared down at him with equal expressions of concern and exasperation on their faces.

"What?"

He stood to his feet, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he felt to see them looking down at him.

"Kurosaki. We're _telling_ you to go and find him."

Chad put his reassuring hand on Ichigo's shoulder.

"Ichigo. Go."

"Are you serious?"

Chad's hand, that same hand that reassured him and fought for him and was loyal to him beyond all others, pushed Ichigo away from them then, to a direction that they could not follow, though there were many roads down which their loyalty might have lead them. Chad knew that he had trailed behind Ichigo down more of those roads than most others, helping as best he could, but he understood well that this was not a path that he could offer any assistance on. Ichigo was lucky, though perhaps he did not notice it: he was surrounded by people trying to help him, people who loved him, people who thought the world of him. But the people given the most love tend to be the ones who take it for granted- not callously, not cruelly or without restraint and appreciation but just because it had always been there.

But Ichigo had to learn, Chad thought, that there are some people that you have to fight for. Not in the way that they had saved Rukia, or Orihime: though he may still yet clash blades with Grimmjow, this was still a wholly different sort of battle.

As if seeing something in the warm and deep stare that Chad was giving him, Ichigo did not wait for a reply but simply nodded, spun on his heels, and ran in the direction of the Urahara Shoten. As he forced his way through the rush-hour crowds of people, he let the emotions rolling around his mind free to roam about, and was nearly crushed by the ignored urge to see Grimmjow. It was so strong that the breath hitched in his throat, but still he carried on running. Suddenly he could hear Zangetsu in his mind, his voice cool and clear, telling him to think things through, but he didn't understand what that meant, only half-smiled to himself at the sound of that voice finally speaking again. It could have implied anything, but all the zanpakuto spirit did, when questioned further, was tell him to search his feelings. The hollow's advice equally as unhelpful.

_For fuck's sake, King, it's like a fucking typhoon in here! Sort yourself out before you drown me and the old man both! I'm sick of this fucking rain!_

He completely ignored the hollow voice in his head (but then, he nearly always did). He thought about that for a while before laughing at himself- of course he was being irrational. Zangetsu didn't offer him advice when he was being sensible, for fucks sake.

_Of course I don't, Ichigo. What would be the point in that?_

He pushed open the door of the Shoten, feeling more alive than he had done in weeks. He was out of breath, his hair was on end, and as he exploded into the shop in a mass of energy and enthusiasm, Urahara was forced to blink, although he was not particularly surprised. He had been warned in advance that this might happen: his shop had not been closed to the stream of people hoping to find some way to help Ichigo feel better. He didn't know why they had all assumed that he would know the answers to Ichigo's problems, but that still didn't stop people asking. The shop owner, who was sitting down and carefully reading over documents that he stored swiftly away at Ichigo's entrance, sighed to himself as he flicked his fan open to cover the smile that sprang to his face at the sight of his favourite pupil so obviously riled (and for such obvious reasons- at least, obvious to everyone except Ichigo, it seemed).

"Oi! Urahara! I need a favour!"

"Is it going to be worth my while?"

Ichigo paused in the doorway.

"If, by 'worth your while', you mean not getting your head kicked in, then yeah."

Kisuke sighed again, flicking his hair back, already knowing that he had lost.

"What do you want?"

"I need you to open a way into Hueco Mundo."

Urahara did not look up from the cup of tea he was sipping from.

"Why?"

"None of your freakin' business."

Urahara placed his cup down on its saucer, his composure not slipping in the slightest as he rose to his feet. If he was curious about the request, then the look in Ichigo's eyes stopped any questions, but knowing Urahara, he would have figured it out aeons before even Chad and Ishida had, let alone Ichigo himself. Their eyes met, and in a moment, Urahara had made his mind up.

"It's already ready, you know. You need to stop being so predictable, Ichigo."

Ichigo was lead down into the underground caverns that he had once trained so vigorously in, and his soul extracted from his body so he could wield Zangetsu. In front of him, suspended in the air, was a black hole. It was much smaller than the one they had used when they had gone to save Orihime, and a lot rougher, too, more like a fraying rip. Not for the first time in his life, Ichigo was confronted with an open doorway, with no clue about what he would face when he got to the other side.

He had not been himself the last few weeks- in fact, he was a little ashamed at how much of a child he had been acting, sulking and petulant in his own head whilst being outwardly miserable to everyone else. If the only way to fix that was to talk to Grimmjow, then talk to Grimmjow he would do, as best as he could. He sighed to himself, and stepped inside.

_You're finally understanding, Ichigo._

No one ever got anywhere by being a coward.

_You knew I would in the end, old man._

* * *

Right, I'm off on holiday. Thank you to all the people who reviewed the last chapter, though I still have not got around to reading them yet. :)


	13. Chapter Twelve

Sorry for the delay in updating, but I took a break from this in order to re-start my Bleach ficlet collection. Thanks for all your lovely reviews, and thank you to everyone who wished me a good holiday- me and Editor-chan had a blast (p.s, Editor-chan, if you read this, I totally am lusting after Mickey Finns and bbq'd naan bread right now).

I don't know why, but this chapter makes me think of 'Baby, Come On', by +44

**Chapter Twelve**

Ichigo Kurosaki needed a bed. The adrenaline had vanished, and now he was just tired, the muscles in his legs burning with the ache of over-work. The blackness through to Hueco Mundo felt inexorably longer than it had any of the other times he had travelled there before, but he thought that might just be his state of mind. He wanted to get there, he really did, but… there was a part of him that didn't, as well. The thought of facing Grimmjow in this place once more was a little nerve-wracking, he was not afraid to admit. He was dreading getting through to Hueco Mundo, not knowing what he would do, or say, or what reaction he would receive on arrival. There was no way he could turn around now, though- he knew that he still needed to talk to Grimmjow, still needed answers. There were too many things still hanging in the air, around and between them. He supposed this time was needed, even if it did feel tedious, because he had too much to question in his own mind, after all, too much that he still had to plan out in his head.

He didn't know what he was going to do when he saw Grimmjow. Just the thought of him sent his head into its own, special brand of madness.

_Quit your bitching, King. _

He shook his head at the unwelcome interruption, and wondered how Urahara had known that he would want to travel through; wondered, in fact, how much the conniving bastard knew about everything. He was infuriating like that, was Urahara. A constant enigma, underneath that hat. His friends, too, seemed to know more that Ichigo would have liked them to about his life.

Or, maybe he was just oblivious to how obvious he could be at times.

He sort of suspected that last one had a lot to do with it.

He sighed to himself and he continued forward, feeling almost as if he had to push through that all-encompassing darkness rather than simply stride through the air. It was almost solid in its consistency, as if it did not want him there. He had the uncanny impression that he was walking against a wall of cling-film: it seemed to stick to him, and let him go a little way, but he felt constantly sure that, if he would stop moving forward, it might start to close in front of him, pushing him backwards the way that he had come from, back towards the living world and anger and loneliness and unanswered questions. He realised with a distracting start that he hadn't told his father he was leaving, and although (he hoped) he was not leaving for good, Isshin would still wonder where he was, especially since Kon would still be in his toy lion, Ichigo's own body left at the Shoten. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance, and hoped that someone would have the initiative to tell him that his son was alright.

No doubt he would be worried that Ichigo's 'visitor' had gotten out of hand. No doubt a few people might think the same.

Isshin hadn't mentioned Grimmjow's absence to his son, although Ichigo had caught him watching him with a worry in his eyes that immediately changed into some sort of joke or declaration of overbearing love. Everyone had been careful around him, now that he thought about it, more careful than they might naturally or normally be; considering the subtlety that some of them were caple of, he was aware that some of them had been trying damn hard. He supposed that, once he was feeling a little more sane, he would have some apologies to make. That is, if he ever got out of here to begin with. This transition was so different to the last time that it was uncanny- maybe it was harder this time because there was a very real part of him that wanted to curl up somewhere and pretend that this whole mess with the former-Espada wasn't happening at all.

Bah. If he could go back in time, and never have seen that menos, or if he had killed the menos on sight, or, really, just killed Grimmjow _properly_ to begin with, then he never would have been in this situation. That thought only made him feel worse, as his mind reached the conclusion long before he was ready to accept it that, if he could turn back the clock, undoing this time with Grimmjow would be the last thing on his list to do.

Talking with Grimmjow didn't feel bad, in any way.

It felt... good.

He was pulled from the sort of contemplation that he had wanted to avoid by the feeling that the air was twisting around him, suddenly squeezing him tight and winding him, though before he knew it he was falling through normal feeling air to the ground. He landed on all fours on the sand of Hueco Mundo, and spat grit out of his mouth. Why the hell was there so much freakin' sand in this place, anyway? Was grass really so far out of the question? He could still taste it, already imbedded into his tongue and teeth, and wished he had one of those scarf-wrap things that Renji and Rukia had turned up with, if only to keep it out of his way.

That didn't stop him, when it had sunk in that he had actually arrived, from grabbing a handful of the white sand, and grinning to himself. He'd made it. Here, at least, things were consistent. The world did not change here all that much- especially once its self-proclaimed God had been killed by the shinigami that he had abandoned.

_Do not lose focus, Ichigo._

_Yeah, yeah, I know._

* * *

From a fair distance away, across the sand that Ichigo was landing on, Grimmjow felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, like the hackles of a wary animal, as familiar power washed over him. Pantera made a strange sound in his mind, half way between a yelp and a snarl, as if her initial reaction was cut short by something else. Grimmjow didn't have time to think about that now, though.

It couldn't be, could it?

Had he really come to Hueco Mundo?

He stood for a moment, undecided, before retreating into further into the cavernous and labyrinthine rooms of Las Noches.

What the hell was he doing here?

Though his mind was afflicted with a dozen contradictions, there was one thing that he did know- and that was that _he wasn't ready to see Kurosaki yet._

The boy confused him. He wanted to kill Kurosaki, he knew that, but there were other emotions welling up inside of him that he did not understand. He could picture Pantera sticking out of that chest, through those black shinigami robes, could see him bleeding and broken on the floor. He used to freakin' dream about killing Kurosaki, he could remember when it had been the only thing that had mattered to him. He could still visualise his own hands around Kurosaki's throat, tightening and tightening as his lips turned blue and his eyes stretched wide… but now he could also see his same hands letting go, running smooth across his shoulders, down his arms, skimming his waist and his hips and the firm line of his thighs and then, and then, and then…

No.

This was all so _wrong._

* * *

Ichigo got to his feet, pressing the blade of his zanpakuto into the ground for leverage, and surveyed where he was. Unlike last time Urahara had sent him through, this time he was much further away from Las Noches, which was somewhat annoying. If the guy was such a freakin' genius, couldn't he find some way to navigate a bit better? This sort of running was just a waste of time. Dunes stretched out for miles around him, spreading out as far as he could see, until it was just a haze of white against the black sky. How far did this world reach out? Did it even have limits to it, or did it simply go on forever? The ruined palace looked about an hours walk away from here, but he knew from bitter experience that it would take him much longer, and who was to say that the rest of this world was not as deceptive? Perhaps there really was no end to it, after all.

He frowned. That really was a feasible thought.

All of a sudden he felt a little foolish. Had he really thought that it would be that easy to find Grimmjow here? All around him, for miles after consecutive miles, stretched more of the same arid terrain, out as far as he could see, and although he had presumed that he would find Grimmjow in Las Noches, he had no evidence to support such a theory. After all, why would he want to wander amongst the ruins of something that had once been so great, the place of his-and-his-own's downfall? People don't tend to like to think about a place where they nearly died, and he doubted that there were all that many good memories associated with the place, after all. Surely he must have had a place to call home before Aizen had come along, and why wouldn't he have gone back there?

Little did Ichigo understand that there was no such place: Grimmjow had never had a home, but a person who always has never guesses at such a truth.

Such a person was Ichigo, though that is no criticism. If you have always been loved, then you cannot understand what it means to have no one in world care if you live, and only a few to care if you die. Ichigo had always been surrounded by love, even if he didn't always see it. It is that loneliness, that knowledge that no one cares that makes you able to throw everything you have into a battle, to not care about the outcome, to not care if you die in a blaze of glory, if you burn out before you get anywhere at all. When you have no-one to lose then you can put your sights on impossible goals of strength, or conquering, rather than achievable goals of protecting those who love you and who you love in turn. It is that knowledge that makes it so hard to accept when people do start to care, or worse: when you start to care for other people. Perhaps if Ichigo had been able to guess, he would have understood a little more why Grimmjow had left in such a flurry of exasperation and introverted anger.

But he did not. All he knew was that he had come here to get Grimmjow back, whether the ass wanted to come or not. They'd walk back side by side, or he'd drag him home.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

Ichigo sighed to himself as he stared around. Plans were always great, when they were theoretical. Now he was here he was less confident. There was, after all, no flash of blue hair to guide his way to wherever Grimmjow might be, no marker directing him to the person he had come to see. What would have been nice would be a great big signpost, which said, 'Sexta Espada, three miles east'. Unfortunately, life never ended up so fortuitous as that. What if he was left to search forever? He knew that he could not go back until he had spoke to the other, and all of a sudden was struck with the realisation that he _literally _could not leave- he had no way to open a path back to the living world, unless he found Grimmjow, who knew how to do such things. He was pretty sure, after all, that he wouldn't find many hollows willing to help out the shinigami who had toppled their crowning glory.

With a sigh, he hefted Zangetsu over his shoulder, ignoring the voice in his head- the one of common sense, not the one of his sword or hollow- that was telling him that this was a fool's errand.

_This is not so, Ichigo. There is a meaning, to being here. _

_Better than being stuck doing nothing, King, even if you are good at being pathetic._

_Guys, if neither of you are going to offer me any useful advice, would you both just keep quiet?_

He had not planned any of this out properly, had he? Resisting the urge to smack himself for his stupidity, and with a lack of any better direction to take, he began to stride towards Las Noches, a haze in the distance. If anything, it would give him a base to start from. And, he reminded himself with a wry smile, at least he would be able to remind himself of some _wonderful_ memories. He stared around him and half-smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he had arrived here. Everything had seemed a lot more simple, then: the Espada were bad, he was good. He was there to rescue Inoue and defeat anyone who stood in his way. Killing Aizen would have been a nice bonus. But now he had come here to reconcile with a former Espada, who he know couldn't label as immoral or moral, either way. Was he in the wrong, for wanting to talk to him, to see him… to be with him?

Perhaps it was: if so, then he didn't think he cared. Grimmjow was a bastard, to be sure. He had murdered, he enjoyed unnecessary death: he would have killed Ichigo had he had half the chance not too long ago. He should have been scared of him, should have taken him out, but whenever their skin touched he was filled with a sure sense of _right-_ that next to Grimmjow was where he was supposed to be. Supposed to be for now, for tomorrow… for as long into the future as he could possibly imagine.

Ichigo shook his head as he took those first of many steps towards that raised dais in the far distance that indicated the great palace. Going there was as long and arduous as he recalled it to be, and before long his muscles were aching again and hit throat was dry. Sand grated against his skin, and as he ran he realised that Grimmjow must have crawled along it after they had fought, judging by what little he had told him about how he had survived. He felt a surge of pity for him, then, at that thought.

Grimmjow. He shook his head, trying to clear his head of the images and memories and emotions that filled him as he remembered the bastard. It would not do to think about it now. It was a distraction, and right now he needed a clear head.

_Stop being a stubborn ass. You need a plan, don't you? You gotta think of one._

_Do I?_

_King, you're a fucking idiot. What are you gonna do, go in all guns blazing?_

_Never stopped me before. _

_Don't really wanna step in a help you out on this one, King. I prefer stabbing to kissing. _

Ichigo blanched at the thought of his hollow getting hot and heavy with Grimmjow, and then paled even more at the realisation that that thought had made him feel a little jealous.

Even a little bit turned on.

That thought he really did shove to the back of his mind, past where even the other two could see it. That was not anything that he ever wanted to think about again.

_Old man, what do you think?_

_You need to make your own way, Ichigo._

Fucking useful advice, that. Ichigo shook his head at the voices within it, giving up, and stopped to rest beside a tree. He leant against it, and to his surprise it was hard, and very solid. He reached to touch a branch, and snapped it off with his hand. It shone in the light like polished stone- like quartz. It was true, then- nothing in this world was living. Even the trees were stone. When he pulled away there was blood down his side, blood that did not look properly red against the black of his uniform and the strange light. It was dried, rather than fresh, but the smell was undeniable, as if the tree had preserved it from decay, and there was no insects or rain here to erase it anyway. Whose was it?

He looked across at Las Noches, and realised that he was much closer than he had thought he was, although he had been on the move for nearly a whole day now, or so he thought- it was hard to tell, when he was used to a different sky. Things always warped here, anyway. The walls reared higher than they did in his memory, although he supposed that he had been trying not to look too hard the last time.

It was no longer the imposing building that he had tried not to see, however. Perhaps, though, part of that was that he was no longer haunted by the thought of the battles here. He was not sure why it was, but time had been something of a healer to him. He could look at it now without fear, without regret. Even as he passed the five still emblazoned on the sand, he was not saddened. Death must come to all- it had avoided Grimmjow, and for that he was entirely thankful, but battle makes one accept that fate.

Ichigo knew he had to stop and rest soon. Though he was outside the building he needed to be fresh, needed to be prepared, and righ now, he just wasn't. It was strange- though he had run for further for longer in the past, today he didn't seem to work. He couldn't keep his mind focused on running, couldn't keep his thoughts fixed to the rhythm of his body, his feet against the sand. More than once he had nearly tripped over nothing as his attention wandered.

He slumped down the side of dune, lying flat on his back against the slope.

He tried to stop himself from wondering where Grimmjow was, right this minute. Could he see that same moon, eerie and distinct?

No. Grimmjow wouldn't stare at the moon. He would howl, but never facing upwards; his sight was always fixed on his future and his past, moving forwards against the ties that held him back. Hate, jealousy, rage; all of those dragged behind him. It was too heavy a burden for him to ever contemplate the skies. Wolves howl to the moon. Loneliness laments in lunar patterns.

Grimmjow wouldn't waste his time on things like that.

Ichigo wondered, for a moment, where Nel was. She must be out there somewhere too, mustn't she? If his search for Grimmjow at Las Noches proved fruitless, perhaps he could look for her as well, and see if she knew anything about his whereabouts. Worst case scenario, at least she would be able to help him get back to the living world. Even if she wasn't able to do it, they must know hollows who could.

He paused for a moment, a thought striking him. Why had he never contemplated the thought of _other_ arrancars? He knew that the Espada and their fraccion were killed in the Winter War, but there might have been others who had lived in Las Noches- in fact, he knew that there were. Several had appeared directly afterwards, either surrendering to the inevitable or caught by shinigami searching them out. What if Nel had run foul of one of them? He had to admit, he had suspected that he would have heard from her once all the clamour had died down, and had been a little surprised when he hadn't.

No, he was sure that he would have heard if Nel had been found- she would recognise the uniform, and demand to speak to 'It-su-go'.

And it wasn't as if his name wasn't the most spoken about in the Soul Society, was it?

He shook his head. There was no point in worrying. Even besides that, Nel was more than capable of looking after herself. She had proved that, at least. It was more likely that, though peace reigned in the human world and the Soul Society, there was still friction in the air here. Ichigo didn't know if the shinigami had considered the option of a new leader rising up out of the ruins, so to speak, but he knew that he certainly hadn't, until this moment. Without Aizen, the whole of Hueco Mundo would be in riot- terrified hollows would have suddenly found the Espada dead, their self-proclaimed God gone. Who knew who would emerge to replace him and lead the rabble?

His thoughts stilled; clarified.

Grimmjow. Of course, Grimmjow. Who else?

There was no-one better equipped to do it, no one left that was stronger. Sure, Nel might have been, but from what she had said she intended to stay in her child form and out of the way. It was in that existence that she had finally found peace, away from battle and bloodshed and responsibility. He didn't blame her, really. She had always seemed so happy, but the moment she had changed he had seen a flint of iron in her eyes, something hard and dangerous and alone, a threat indeed, but one that was somehow sad, too.

He was _glad_ she had taken that path. From what he could see, it seemed that the life of an Espada was a wretched one.

He sighed, and forced himself to his feet.

He had a palace to seach.

* * *

Grimmjow strode around rubble and over rock, through still-standing doorways and down deserted corridors. Sometimes he was sure he could see shadows moving on the walls, shadows of people that he knew were long dead, but then they vanished, and he was forced to accept that it was just a trick of his mind, an illusion of the light, the lingering strains of his memory. There were rooms here that he didn't want to go into, places that he could bear to see again.

He hated this place, but it was his, now.

He took another turn, left, right, left again.

It may have looked like he was wandering aimlessly through the maze of a building, but there was a place that he was headed for, the only place he could think of where he might find a little peace of mind from the feelings assaulting his senses and consciousness as Ichigo drew closer and closer.

He could almost taste him in the air. It choked him.

Part of him wanted to run outside and find Kurosaki, a part of him wanted to hide. The voice he was listening to was another, one directing him through Las Noches to a place that he knew would make him feel more secure, a place that would give him, even if it was only in his own mind, an advantage. He didn't know if Ichigo was here to fight or not, but if he did, then he would get one to remember. Wait, what was he thinking? He was going to fight Kurosaki even if the bastard didn't want to! He was in control here, for the love of god!

He ignored the creeping insistence of fear in his chest and moved still deeper into the ruins.

The word love flitted into his mind briefly, but disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him disorientated and more than a little confused.

He found the room he was looking for, and paused in the doorway at the sight of the wreckage. Despite everything, it was still as beautiful as he remembered. His jacket snagged on a splintered bit of rock as he crept towards it and in a fit of irritation he shrugged it off, casting it to the side. In this room was everything that he had once dreamed of, the icon for his deepest and most potent desire.

It still had the ability to thrill him, even now, surrounded by ruin.

* * *

Ichigo had forgotten everything but Grimmjow when he reached the outer walls of Las Noches and stepped inside, across the threshold of the ruins. There was no need for a door, not anymore- now he strode through a huge hole ripped through the wall, which still towered high above him, like the fortress that it was. His mind was filled with the former-Espada, but still nothing had come to mind about what to do, what to say. All he could think of was blue, like the deep and clear waters of a warm sea.

He could feel his heart in his throat at the thought of reconciling with Grimmjow.

Half of the great and domed roof had collapsed in on itself, rock obeying the gravity which existed in every world that there was, and Ichigo remembered with no guilt that that had happened when he was fighting Ulquiorra. Cracks ran all over the parts of the building still standing like intricate spider-webs on a massive scale: Ichigo was struck with the uncanny feeling that he might be caught in one of them, snared as he wandered. All of the towers were missing great chunks out of them, and masonry was scattered across the ground, the sand building up against them. Soon, the building would be reclaimed, either by hollows or by the ravages of time; Ichigo did not speculate which, mainly because he didn't care too much. Hopefully, he would never have to return here. One day, it might be rebuilt, or else it may be lost to the ever-present sands of Hueco Mundo, and the past forgotten.

Damn this place to hell, he thought. That was where the memories of this place belong.

_Hell? I thought that was what this place was, King?_

Ichigo shook his head, ignoring that voice. There was a strange and eerie beauty about this place, he had to admit, though it took a while for it to sink in. The shadows stretched around him, elongated and disconcerting, making everything look out of proportion and confusing. Besides, this place could never be hell, for despite the blood that was soaked into each individual stone and the battles that had been fought for the good of evil here, now that he was close enough to it he could feel Grimmjow's spiritual pressure, crawling like electricity across his skin, making each hair stand on end, sending a delicious shiver down his spine.

No hell could ever make him feel like that, he was sure.

For a moment he forgot his trepidation, and smiled at the metaphysical welcome.

_You still don't know what you're gonna say to him, King._

He dug his nails into his hands until they were decorated with eight bright red, crescent moon markings of his determination and suppressed frustration. He supposed that if he dug any harder he might bleed, but he resisted the urge to do so, to stain this white with colour dripped from his palms. He didn't have a plan, was pretty sure that a plan was useless- after all, it seemed that Grimmjow liked to turn things upside down in his world.

The crackle of Grimmjow's power moved over him, tasting as he remembered and embracing his own, that surged forward to meet it, tendrils wrapping together in recognition and welcome.

Everything was held in a stark contrast- white against black, black against white. Rock, sand, shadows, sky. He trod lightly, despite the knowledge that Grimmjow must already know that he was here. He felt as though he couldn't make too much noise here, as if this place was somehow sacred to the touch, and he walked around the emblazoned four the same way that you would walk around a gravestone- with respect, with a shiver. It was the last remaining sign that something had once existed, some creature who had been created for the purpose of servitude and power.

Even that, just one small symbol as a memory, should have been given the proper deference it deserved. A life was a life- regardless of what allegiance it had.

But there was no life here now, which surprised him, and he followed those tendrils of welcome and anger and well known power through the place that had once been magnificent, walking straight through ripped apart walls and skirting piles of rock where the roof had caved in. He had not thought, before now, of the damage that the others must have done to the place: he'd only been thinking of his own battles, not those of his shinigami allies, except for the background worry of whether or not they had died.

The ruination was huge: he was glad that it had happened.

He was reminded, strangely, of a black-and-white Egypt; former grandeur lost, buried. No Valley of the Kings, here, no great tombs or testament to death, only dark numbers, memories emblazoned with war. The place was quiet, maybe a little too quiet. He was too used to the background hum of civilization, of people and conversation. Sand had blown against the walls, piling up in shifting slopes against the collapsing rock, in some places threatening to cover it entirely, and as he watched he could see it grow bigger and shift, though for the life of him he did not understand how it was happening, for he could feel no breeze at all.

He found his way to where Grimmjow was eventually, ignoring the shadows that crept over the ground like fingers reaching towards him. There was nothing here that would hurt him, except perhaps the former-Espada that he was here to find- about him, Ichigo was not entirely certain, but faint heart had never won anything at all. The ceiling had fallen in everywhere now, not just underneath the dome, and although he did not know what it had once been, it looked a lot more like it had done when Baraggan had ruled there, open to the black, lifeless sky.

The place to hold court. The centre of power.

The throne sat somehow undamaged amongst the wreckage, despite the lumps of rock littering the room like strange, angular boulders. It gleamed white and bare under the silver of the moonlight, but Ichigo's eyes did not linger there for long. They were drawn instead to the figure on the floor, cross-legged and hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his head on his hands. It was Grimmjow, his hair in a brutal contrast to the black and white of Las Noches. His jacket had been discarded; he wore only his hakama. His back was to Ichigo, the emblazoned number of his rank a reminder of what he was.

He was surrounded by the remains of this castle, King of his own, dilapidated world.

Ichigo found the image strangely sad.

"Not sitting on your throne, Grimmjow?"

The replying voice was growling, almost shaking with rage.

"The hell are you doing here, Shinigami?"


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"_Not sitting on your throne, Grimmjow?"_

_The replying voice was growling, almost shaking with rage._

"_The hell are you doing here, Shinigami?"_

Silence rocked between them as Ichigo reached for something to say, for anything to say that could break through this terrible tension, though there was nothing that struck him that could make a difference to the bare anger that he could see in the line of that back turned in disinterest, the disgust evident in that voice, that voice that sounded as if Grimmjow was filled so completely with a fury that Ichigo knew well, that fury that expands your body outwards and fills you in a way that makes you believe that there is nothing that you can do to dispel it; that fury that keeps you unable to speak, shaking, writhing in wordless and discontented wrath whilst at the same time you long to scream so loud that the very world might crack, shatter, collapse to the sound.

Ichigo could swear that he could hear crashing waves against the shores of his own mind. His head was filled with noises, with emotion, with longing. He wished he knew of a way to make the tension in that body go, a way to soothe the animal in front of him, a way so still the hostility in the air, but there was nothing he could think of. Words had never been his strong point, and they were failing him.

He sighed, to himself. This place wearied him, this situation darkened the irrational joy he had as he looked at Grimmjow once more, even though the other was making it quite clear that he was unwelcome in this place of shadows and spider-web intricate sorrow.

Ichigo placed Zangetsu in the dust, hoping the zanpakuto would forgive him if he died here and now, because of his own stupidity. He was pretty sure that Grimmjow would not kill him, but then, he had always had an unpredictable temperament, if howling had ever been expected to be orderly and understandable. He had a good feeling that, somewhere in his head, his hollow was screaming aloud at the scene unfolding before him, because he could sort of hear the ringing in his ears, like that of the aftermath of an explosive noise. The sight of the former Espada turning his head to the side, just for a moment, to glare at the far wall was enough to make him shudder, even at that brief profile.

He could not think; his mind had become white noise, static.

Grimmjow's jaw was tight. His eyes were wild.

"I came to talk."

There was the faint sound of growling at Ichigo's words; the hair on his arms stood on end at the anger that lashed through their interwoven power that still rode the air between them. Grimmjow, it seemed, still refused to turn to look at him, but in that moment he had Ichigo had seen a powerlessness and hopelessness that he knew Grimmjow would have no name for, no way of understanding in the way that those who can accept their frailties and loves can. Ichigo watched battle-scored hands run through already-tousled hair, back and forth, as if he were trying to ease away a headache.

"What the hell d'you want to talk about?"

Grimmjow almost spat the words out in anger but in response Ichigo huffed, almost petulant as he rolled his eyes at the stupidity. Perhaps it might not have been the most sensible of responses, but instinct ruled them both.

"Dumb-ass."

Grimmjow surged to his feet, and Ichigo was reminded once again of the feral grace of his menos form. There was a subtle elegance to the muscles on his back, that moved underneath his skin in a ripple of motion that reminded him almost of water, water with deep currents and a silken surface. Ichigo swallowed. He could see Grimmjow's fists clench and unclench with meticulous motion; he watched the movement in his neck as his jaw tightened again, as if he were gritting his teeth. Ichigo suspected that he probably was, and he supposed that he could understand that- his own face was aching from a similar grind. Almost in slow-motion Grimmjow turned to face him, though it felt as if it should have been sped up to match the burn of his glare.

But, there was too much rage in Grimmjow's tense and unapproachable frame, and Ichigo was surprised by its intensity- he had expected anger, he would have been worried if there had not been. He had seen it in Grimmjow when he had caught sight of him, but in his infinite innocence in the manner of those of such emotional complexities as the former-Espada, he had he had not known to expect this sort of… this sort of hatred.

It made him blink. It dimmed the light of hope inside of him.

It made him wish he hadn't already placed his zanpakuto to the side.

There was the slightest of breezes then, one that touched his cheek and made his eyes widen, for he had never felt a wind here, had never even assumed that a wind was possible in a place that lacked life as much as this barren wasteland did. The thought of any sort of normality here shocked him, and it took him a moment to realise that it wasn't a wind at all, he had been deceived- it was Grimmjow's presence, and the reaction of his reiatsu to Ichigo's, disturbing the spiritual particles in the air.

It was unnerving.

Grimmjow was still glaring at him.

Although Ichigo's eyes were first drawn to that inescapable scar that slashed down through his chest they were soon pulled up to his face, which was glowering with as much force as it could muster; which, since it was Grimmjow, was not an insubstantial amount. He looked just as he had done before his resurrection- the same kind of hard, unfeeling ire that had propelled them, once, to fight to the apparent death.

Ichigo swallowed. He could see very little of the friend that he had come to find in that face.

But it was just as soon as Ichigo had seen the rage that it dissipated, and Grimmjow's shoulders sagged a little. There was a darkness around his eyes, but as Ichigo looked, it was one less of ire, and one more of troubled thoughts. He rubbed at his face like he had not had enough sleep in the recent days. That enough was hope for the confused boy- did that mean that this whole situation had affected Grimmjow as much as it had done himself? Or was he reading too much into this once again?

"How did you get here?"

"Same way I got here last time. A lot quieter this time around, though."

Grimmjow was staring at him like he was mad. Ichigo did have to wonder himself, sometimes. Why was he talking in a tone of voice that made him sound as if he were discussing the weather? What happened to that collected and elegantly worded confession, the kindly request for Grimmjow to return back to Karakura? No, not for Ichigo-freakin'-Kurosaki, it seemed.

"It's always quiet around here. Not even the sand makes noise, as if shifts. The only thing you can hear are hollows, fighting amongst themselves."

Ichigo shook his head, trying to lighten the mood that the conversation was already slipping into. There was a ferocious happiness that was eating at him with a worrying insistence, making him want to reach out, to touch Grimmjow's arm and hands and the tanned and hard planes of his chest.

"No, I mean that I didn't have to face death half a dozen times just to get this far."

He grinned, meaning it in jest, but it had the opposite effect. That tension was back in Grimmjow's face, and Ichigo realised that he had said something wrong.

"You've got no fucking idea what death feels like, shinigami. No fucking idea whatsoever. You didn't even have to die to get that uniform, did you? Oh, you've been close, I'm sure, but don't talk about what you don't know as if it doesn't matter so much. It hurts, did you know that? Do you _really _know what pain is, shinigami? Not a pain that you can slip into unconsciousness to escape, not a pain that is overrun by adrenalin, determination, anger. Not the damage of battle, just pain, absolute, no reason. It hurts worse not to die, just to change. Shifting forms isn't fucking easy, you don't just roll over and it's done. It's like someone is reaching through your ribcage to grab a part of you, to wrench it out so hard that you can almost taste the blood. Your bones move and lengthen, even though your skin can't accommodate it. Every ligament rips, every organ ruptures, and then it all has to shift, and move, before it can finally fucking reform itself."

Pantera was drawn with more speed than he had been able to see, perhaps as fast and as unconscious a movement as that flow of sudden, infuriated eloquence that ripped its way out of Grimmjow's mouth and mind, his eyes screaming silently as they remembered. The former-Espada, wild, out of control, took a step closer until the point of the steel was touching Ichigo's throat. He was panting a little from his outburst, his voice lowered into a violent, hoarse whisper.

"Do you know what it feels like to have your bones shatter inside of you? All of them, at once? To have your very skin peel off your body as fur pushes through?"

Ichigo shook his head slowly, and Grimmjow sighed. The hot flushes of his temper, it appeared, were even more unpredictable, because in a moment Ichigo could see those dark and dilated pupils calm to normal size, could see the tick in his jaw meld back into the skin. Grimmjow's breath levelled as he withdrew his zanpakuto, and sheathed it. The glance he gave the sword was almost irritated, but at the same time a little tender. There was an exasperated compassion there, and Ichigo wondered what it would feel like to have a look like that directed at him. He had a feeling that it would be wonderful.

Even now, even with Grimmjow a maddened beast before him, he had to fight the urge to touch him.

"She's telling me not to kill you, you know. She says I'll regret it later on. I should listen to her, probably. She's never liked me fighting you, anyway- before, she was always warning me to leave you be. I guess that I probably should have listened to you, not got myself killed."

It took Ichigo an awkward moment to realise that the latter half of what Grimmjow had just said had been directed at his zanpakuto. He knew that everyone spoke to the spirits of their swords, but to be privy to such a private moment made him feel a little uncomfortable. He felt as if he must offer something, some words to draw Grimmjow back to this stilted reality.

"You're not dead, you're here."

Grimmjow looked affronted, brought back to the exact place that he didn't want to be by the sound of Ichigo's voice. He was wrenched back from the dream-like state he had been in, half-way between Hueco Mundo and the reaches of his own mind, where his zanpakuto was warning him, voice quick and deep as she padded up and down in worry, always worrying. He had seen her turn this way and that, staring behind him at some part of his mind that he could not see. There were shadows on the barren sands of the place that had always been so bright, so clear to him, shadows long and dark from behind him that screamed of change. The rivers of blood twisted in ways that he did not understand anymore, ways that he had never tried to follow. He did not have to turn to know that the land behind him was no longer flat. He could see the differences glinting in the deep, amber-rose pools of Pantera's eyes, flickering this way and that, the colour changing from warm orange to deep and insistant red. Those eyes had once been only the slanting colour of blood.

He turned his back on Ichigo, much the same way his was doing on his internal confusion.

"You know what I mean. And you did kill me, as far as one life to another goes."

Ichigo nodded, slowly, unsure what would provoke Grimmjow further. It made him uncomfortable when people dwelled on his strength, the battles he had fought. Besides, even if he had defeated Grimmjow the last time that they fought in seriousness, that wasn't the end of it…

"I caught you though, remember, when Nnoitra cut you down?"

Grimmjow spat into the sand beside him, forehead creased into a frown of absolute disgust.

"Pity. Charity. I don't want either, do you get that? Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't. When I came to Karakura-"

"Why _did_ you come? Out of anywhere in the world, why go to the one place that the shinigami were watching most intently?"

He shrugged, that line of unexplored thought closing its door to him. He had followed the other hollows through their rip to a place near to Karakura, but there were many places in the area he could have moved towards, places that it would have made more sense to go to. He had never questioned his intentions, though Pantera knew quite well what had moved through his mind when he had first scented the town, its lingering traces of shinigami power, the scars of battle that it wore, invisibly.

"It wasn't intentional, it wasn't logical. Nothing I've fucking done since I was resurrected does. Things would make more sense if I had just flat out _died_, rather than lived again. This isn't real life." He gestured around him. "What the hell even am I? I ain't a fucking arrancar, and I'm more than a menos. I sure as hell ain't a shinigami, either."

"Shut the fuck up."

Grimmjow blinked, startled.

"Just, shut up! You've been given a second chance, you stupid bastard. Appreciate it! You can't just sit here _moping_ and acting like the world is over just because things didn't go the way that you wanted! You think I chose to be a shinigami? You think I wouldn't have preferred just to have been a normal kid, not had to fight any of you, got involved in this?"

"You've gained too much to wish that you could give it up, you fucking liar. Power. Strength."

Ichigo nodded.

"Friends."

Grimmjow inclined his head to the side, neither a yes or a no.

"And that doesn't mean I wouldn't have been just as content as a human teenager, whose biggest worry was homework. But then... then, I wouldn't have met you, if I hadn't become a shinigami, would I?"

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, both trying to come up with something further to say to the other. Both failed; Grimmjow was reeling from the implications of those last words, what it could mean and what it might not, and Ichigo couldn't help but wonder if that had been too stupid a thing to say right now. That silence reached across, lowering a tension over them, until Grimmjow's nose was drawn to the scent of blood, faint but tangible in the air.

"Kurosaki, are you bleeding?"

"No. I leant against a bloodied tree, and got some on me."

He proffered his hand towards the former-Espada, who, with some reluctance, came towards it. He took it with an awkward grace, pressing his nose against the palm, tongue darting out to taste the rusted flakes that still remained there, showing the unaffected and undaunted approach to blood that all of the arrancar had possessed. After a moment he pulled away, scowling.

"I thought it was my blood, for a moment. It is arrancar, but it's not mine."

Grimmjow's power spiked in the air for a moment.

"I guess I'm too used to associating you with my blood, huh?"

Ichigo stared. If it _had_ been Grimmjow's… he hadn't thought about it, but he might have walked right past the place that might have once become Grimmjow's last resting place, the place where his body had bled and altered and healed over. He could have passed a tree that Grimmjow might have leant on, stepped on sand that held the lingering memory of the former-Espada's own footprint, distinct in the solitude. What a strange feeling indeed that was. Not unpleasant, though: after Grimmjow's own mysterious lack of admissions about his survival the thought that he might have passed something that would reveal it all was a captivating concept.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, and as if he was ignoring what had been spoken off, seemed to answer Ichigo's comment about the quietness of the place, as if he was pretending that the latter part of the conversation had not happened at all.

"The hollows are too scared to come here now. They think that Aizen was a curse, and they'll catch it if they come too close. I don't think that they believe his dead."

Ichigo seemed only to anticipate the change in conversation, and readily accepted it, as if they had never varied from course.

"Do you think it was a curse?"

Grimmjow's lip curled upwards in an outward show of apathetic disinterest and he shrugged, an easy movement of his shoulders that rolled their considerable length from one joint to the next, as if he were stretching himself. The scar moved along the line of his body with the rhythm of them, the silvered-pink, raised line looking out of place and yet so right, it's movement a reflection of his grace, its attraction a reflection of Ichigo's own.

"Maybe..." he trailed off as Ichigo looked at him, square in the eye, and Grimmjow found himself feeling strangely on edge. "I know I've not been the same since."

"Grimmjow, I-"

"Shut up."

"Fuck you. Why the hell did you leave?"

"Had no reason to stay, did I?"

Ichigo bit the inside of his mouth suddenly and with an achingly painfully sharpness, and scowled at the former Espada, who was returning the stare with equal venom, waiting for whatever response that statement would illicit. But Ichigo said nothing, and the silence pervaded until Grimmjow's lip curled in disgust. His eyes flickered back to the throne, just for a moment, as he began to speak.

"The hollows need someone to command them. Most of the Vasto Lordes have gone, and the ones left aren't worth shit. They had that old bastard Baraggan before, and then Aizen, and now… they need someone to lead them."

Ichigo's mouth was suddenly dry.

"Are you going to do that?"

Grimmjow looked at him slyly, out of the corner of his eye.

"I could do. No reason I shouldn't. This was what I wanted, you know. To rule all of this. And besides, there are arrancar still left, out there, somewhere. I could find them, create another army. They need sorting out, training up, but I could do that. It would be like before, but without Aizen, without Ulquiorra, with _me_ leading them."

Ichigo pointedly looked away, staring anywhere but at those eyes, which were watching him with a mixture of curiosity and an undisguised but nameless emotion that made his chest contract. They had been here before, this moment that needed filling with words, that needed Ichigo to stop being such a coward and say what he longed to, act on too-well hidden desires. He knew what he should be doing, what would make sense to him, but what he did not understand was what Grimmjow was waiting to hear. He feared disappointing him with a great intensity.

"Or I could not. Someone would fill my place. There is always someone looking for power. And the strongest are gone. I wasn't in the better half of the Espada, and I'm the most powerful left."

Ichigo sighed, but still did not meet his eyes. He had never heard Grimmjow talk about his own power like this, with that cold and calculating acceptance of where he was in life. He had always been so adamant that he was the greatest, that he was going to win over them all in the end… and yet, now, he spoke of his position with no animosity, no rage. It was cool, it was reasonable, and it so _wasn't _Grimmjow.

"Grimmjow, you… What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

The conversation was cut off by a sudden, deafening roar like an animal enraged from close by, too close by. They felt the heat of spiritual pressure as a zanpakuto attack of some kind ripped through the still intact wall of the throne room, leaving a wide doorway for those outside. Four figures appeared through the dust and haze of stirred sand, standing in a line but with a certain distance between them that gave away that they were not friends, only allies, together for convenience. Ichigo did not recognise them personally but he knew the uniform- those lines of white, all cut differently but still sharing a similarity of self that was inexplicable and yet _obvious_. He supposed that was why he thought of it as uniform in his head, despite the many differences in styles. Even if the clothes had not been such a give away, though, the masks were- arrancar. There was a moment of stillness as he stared at them, somewhat baffled. Though Grimmjow had told him that there were arrancar still surviving he had not thought that he might see them.

Their conversation had seemed too oddly intimate to even consider interruption.

He dove for Zangetsu before they had a chance to stop him, rolling to his feet again in one easy, fluid motion, the zanpakuto already pointing at the four of them. Not for nothing had been his training, after all, and his reactions were quick enough when it came to anticipating his opponents- which he had to assume these people were, since they did not look particularly pleased to see him, and it was very irregular for visiting friends to not use the door, after all, rather than blasting a hole through the wall. He supposed that etiquette may be different in Hueco Mundo, but he doubted by _that_ much.

With anyone else he might have considered sabotage, that Grimmjow had tricked him and had been waiting for this back up to arrive… but it just wasn't his style, to rely on the help of others to kill an opponent. If Grimmjow had really wanted to kill him as much as the anger in his eyes suggested, then they would already be fighting. Besides, the former-Espada seemed just as displeased and confused as he was by the interruption, if his next words said anything.

"Who the fuck are you?"

A woman bowed to him, a long and deep bow that seemed a little too formal for the arrancar for it to appear a movement that came to her naturally. White-blonde hair fell around her face, disguising her expression but revealing her zanpakuto, a short sword strapped to the back of her upper arm. Ichigo took careful note, as he had learnt to do, of how it would be drawn. She was the only one of the four that had not already done so, and from the look of it, two of them had already released. Ichigo raised an eyebrow almost without meaning to do so at the seriousness of their expressions and intent.

The woman's voice was deep and hoarse, though her frame was slight. Ichigo noted a long, thin line of bone that ran down the whole length of her spine, visible through the backless tunic she wore. It reminded him a little of the back of an emaciated, four-legged animal, he was thinking to himself as her accusing finger pointed at him.

"Jaegerjaquez-san, what is he doing here? Why have you not yet engaged him in battle?"

If there had ever been any question as to who she was referring, then it would have been dispelled in the instant as the other three all seemed to be staring at Ichigo with an unbridled mixture of fear and anger.

"Answer my question first, you stupid bitch. Are you with the fucker I cut up the other day?"

She straightened up, a little discomforted as she nodded in the affirmitive. The look of bewilderment in her eyes reminded Grimmjow of the arrancar that he had sent a- ahem- message with. It was as if they simply couldn't understand why Grimmjow was not more pleased to see them. She looked tired, drawn; each of her movements was offered with a stilted listlessness. Ichigo supposed they must have been made aware of the situation by the spiritual commotion that their reiatsu was making. Although he himself had never been exceptionally in tune with reading such things, he had seen first hand the extent to which some people could, and he guessed that though they were making some metaphysical noise, it probably wasn't the right sort to indicate a battle.

"We understand the implication of your words with our friend, Jaegerjaquez-san, and we intended to keep away, but _his _presence worries us. Our friend may have been a little unintentionally vigorous in trying to persuade you: for that, we apologise. That was never our intention. But he does not belong here."

Another of the group, this one a boy whose body looked no bigger than that of a four year old child, crowed in agreement, the sudden burst twisting his face for a moment into horrific malice before it reverted back into an expression that appeared more regular, face pinched and unattractive in a deep scowl. His hair was so pale a brown and so fine that the wisps that fell across his tanned forehead were almost invisible.

"Fuck you."

The third started forward towards Ichigo as Grimmjow's words echoed, infused with anger but somehow still sounding completely in control. A man, his zanpakuto, released into a short spear, his face made up with an expression of anger evident behind a poorly-constructed blankness, was blasted before he had taken more than a few steps in Ichigo's direction by Grimmjow's cero. He fell, smouldering, to the ground, before disintegrating. The bright blue lit the room up, casting a strange hue on the intruders. There was a frozen, long moment as the woman and the boy stared at Grimmjow in total shock. They had not believed that their 'friend' had done as little as she had claimed to deserve such a ruthless punishment, had thought that such an outburst must have been provoked. It would appear not. Had they been thinking rationally at that second, they would have understood that to stand so still and so unaware of their circumstances might have been thier deathwish.

The fourth of the group made no such mistake.

An androgynous figure, tall and thin, this arrancar had his face shrouded by the shadow of a deep and rigid hood, though Ichigo had to admit that knowledge that it was a woman would not have stayed his hand in the slightest- chivalry has its place, after all, but that is not, and never should be, in battle. Its uniform was a solid, all-covering white, and from the too-long sleeves fell a mace, not in a traditional sphere but in almost a diamond shape. He moved faster than the first had done, and reached Ichigo before Grimmjow had a chance to notice. Three more had appeared behind the woman and the child, and his attention had been caught by them, by the sudden realisation that there were more of them than he had thought, though all of them looked weak, and most looked a little scared.

Ichigo was not distracted. Zangetsu was thrumming in his mind in anticipation as the arrancar circled him, slowly, the mace swinging back and forth ominously, casting distorted shadows upon the floor.

The arrancar looked threatening, no one could have argued against that, but Ichigo gathered quickly enough that it was not. There was a way to how it wielded the mace, with little skill or finesse that spoke realms about its weaknessess and the lack of training and affinity that it had with the zanpakuto, and each movement was too deliberate and entirely predictable, without enough force in the swing to have caused serious damage even if it had managed to hit Ichigo. He found that he could parry with ease. One attack, and he fell.

The arc of his Getsuga Tensho made for an impressive sight as it sliced the opponent in half, arcing upwards and backwards towards the roof somewhere behind Ichigo in its momentum from the attempt at a block from the arrancar, who remained silent even in suddnen and not unpredictable death.

He turned to Grimmjow, who had noticed the fight despite his attention still being drawn to the growing number of arrancar that now numbered around ten. For some reason, they had all started smiling, unnervingly, at the sound of Ichigo's attack.

Grimmjow caught his eye and blinked, looking startled.

And he grinned, but Grimmjow was turning towards him, arms rolling wide as he span with haste and there was a sudden look in his eyes, a sudden stare of fear and wide-eyed surprise and then he was running, leaping around masonry that was only slowing him down and running, running so fast towards Ichigo as if he would die if he didn't get there in time and Ichigo only had the briefest of moments to stare, and raise his hand just a little before Grimmjow barrelled into him, knocking him over and to the side, his head falling back so that he could see the dark reaches of the sky, but it wasn't the sky, it was white and it was rock and then… and then…

Everything went black.

* * *

Hate cliffhangers? Yeah, so do I. Hate it when an author looks like they've gone for character death? Same. XD


	15. Chapter Fourteen

"Also did Ichigo take out the ceiling? The powers of Zangetsu always included interior/exterior decoration."- nmhotel, you make me laugh. Cynoyonrae, your review made me incredibly happy. Thank you to the both of you.

I can't believe how much abuse I got for a cliff-hanger. What, you want me to trail off, all boring? The mixture of blatant disapproval and bemusement makes me think that I am the Aizen to your reading-time. I just like to be a pain in the ass. I have more to say, but enough AN. No-one reads them anyway, and this chapter has been delayed enough. Onwards.

**Chapter Fourteen**

He could taste blood.

That was the first thing that came to mind as the darkness in his eyes swam with ripples of colour and light that made his head hurt. God damn, why couldn't he think straight? Was he awake, or could this be the start of some strange dream that he just hadn't recognised yet? But no, there was pain. Holy fuck, but there was pain, and he didn't understand how he hadn't felt that before now. His head _hurt._ Shit. Why _did_ it hurt so much? Why had everything gone black? Wait…

He had to think. He had to remember.

He needed to make sense of this.

It felt as if he were swimming through his own mind, trying to piece together what had happened. Feeling came back to him at different times; his legs first; they ached a little but not enough to tell him anything in particular. It was no worse than the sort of ache he got after running the four-hundred relay for school, in the world before all of this, when he was just some average, normal kid, albeit with a hair colour than attracts rather a little too much attention. He thought about his hands after that and though they didn't hurt, under them he could feel something coarse, something like grit but finer. Sand, that was it, as if he were at a beach, but he wasn't. No sound of surf, his father chattering like a deranged monkey in the background. Something else then. He'd come to Hueco Mundo, hadn't he, to find something? No, that wasn't right- someone. Grimmjow. His head hurt, why was that? He'd fallen, no, that didn't sound right… Grimmjow had knocked him over. Why?

Colour was returning, quicker now, and the world came slowly into a focus of blurred white and black, until he could see Las Noches once more. He was flat on his back. Blood was coppery in his mouth still, he thought he might have imagined that, but he must have just forgot whilst he tried to remember. Either way, it was real. Which meant that he was hurt. He was hurt because he'd been fighting, but it hadn't been with Grimmjow, he felt certain of that. Grimmjow. Where was Grimmjow?

He tried to sit up, and the pain that rolled around his head felt like white lightening, a roar in his ears as he fell back the same instant, cradling his forehead in his hands, though his arms felt like weighted lead. Sparks flew across his vision, and took a while to settle. He watched them, half-entranced at the patterns they were making, feeling a little light-headed. He was sure that he could hear colour, and it was red.

"You're a fucking idiot, d'you know that?"

He hadn't said that, though a part of him was thinking it. He knew that voice, knew the way the mouth formed around the words and knew the tone, the sentiment, knew the way that person spoke, how they pronounced some syllables with a gravity and how they spat others out. Despite the pain and despite his discomfort, he couldn't help but smile as he tried to sit up once more, though it distorted into a grimace soon enough. The pain sent him reeling again, but this time he fell back onto his elbows rather than his back. Progress. That was something.

"What happened?"

"You blasted at that arrancar so hard that you knocked some of the ceiling onto your own head. Be fucking thankful you got out the way enough that it only clipped you."

"The ceiling?"

He looked up, and the sky was as open to him as it had been when he had arrived. Where it must once have met the walls, at some points, there were still bits intact, arching over just little, not really noticeable unless you were looking at them intently, as he now found himself doing. Was there more masonry on the floor, more white rubble? He couldn't really tell, but he supposed that it was probably feasible. Arrancar, of course- he had been fighting one, hadn't he? That was what happened, he could see it now. But where had they gone?

Grimmjow's words came from somewhere that he couldn't see and they hit him at different times, as if they had been slowed down and fed to him in segments for him to process.

"I got out the way?"

"You gonna repeat every fucking thing that I say?"

Ichigo shook his head, more to himself, and it hurt. Things were clearer now, and it wasn't just the stars. He could remember it again.

"_You_ got me out of the way."

There was no response. Ichigo tried to sit up a little further, and managed it without that blackness coming back onto his field of vision. His mind ran riot through the things he had picked up from the surgery on head trauma. Dammit, but for once in his life he sort of wished that his father could be here. At least he would know what to do. He may have been a substitute shinigami, and he may have fought in a more important war than mankind could contemplate, but that didn't change the fact that he was human, and subject to the same frailties and injuries. His mind, though, was irritatingly blank when it came to trying to recall conversations and cases, and not a lot came to mind. He wondered why he hadn't paid more attention over the years, because he had certainly had the chance to do so.

Carefully now, less reckless, he tried to sit up fully, and managed it with only a little discomfort. He felt his scalp gently, probing lightly. No lacerations, so his skin couldn't haemorrhage and his skull was not penetrated. That was definitely good. The thought of his brain leaking out wasn't exactly a nice image. Cerebral contusion? No, unlikely, hopefully. No aphasia, and motor coordination fine, as far as he could tell. He formed shapes with his hands just to be sure. He knew he needed to test by walking, but his body wasn't quite up to it just yet. Concussion most likely. He should rest, though he knew that here and now it wasn't an option.

Dammit, but in his world it was so rarely an option.

If this had been any other time, he would have rested. All the enemies in sight (and it had been a great long time since he had clearly and uncompromisingly considered Grimmjow a threat in the traditional sense) were gone, defeated or scattered, and there was no need to try and force movements that he might not have been ready for. But here there was a motive to try, and need.

From here, he could see Grimmjow.

That, more than anything, made him want to get to his feet.

He was sat some distance away, perched on the precarious looking edge of a large boulder of white rock that looked taller than Ichigo from where he sat. The overhanging part of the boulder looked ready to snap off, and Ichigo thought that might have been why Grimmjow looked so dangerous, and so in danger. But no, he knew he was being stupid- the strange air of hard-shelled vulnerability that he was giving off was because of far more than just the place he was sitting. Grimmjow was in perfect profile, neither looking at nor away from Ichigo directly but facing instead up, through the disintegrated roof. His legs hung down from the edge and his head was back, directed upwards at the sky, at the moon. His eyes were closed without flickering though his forehead was pulled into a frown, and there was a smattering of blood across his arms, though from what he could see Grimmjow wasn't injured anywhere. His elbows rested on his thighs, his hands hanging between his parted legs, pose almost indolent despite the expression on his face.

The moon's light was white and lucid, bleaching the vibrancy of his hair and dulling the sharp contrast that the tan of his skin made to the monochrome landscape of what was once an intimidating throne room. It turned the inelegant rubble to something like art, something so entirely at peace with what it was that it had become hard to see it as anything but. It was a sad scene, but there was beauty in it, dignity, the relics of a fallen order. The moonlight was enough to cast the darkness of memories from Ichigo, and he suddenly felt no particular feeling towards this place, no hate or regard but for the fact that, now, it held Grimmjow, it sheltered him whilst more of that weightless light that still retained so much presence fell, turning him into something that Ichigo could barely recognise. It even wiped the shadows from under Grimmjow's eyes away, he could tell even from this angle, so that his face appeared porcelain, untouched and exquisite but somehow unreal. He looked… he looked like he belonged here, in a way that he never had done before. In that moment, he fitted, and it filled Ichigo with a wordless panic that, maybe, Grimmjow wouldn't actually want to leave.

"Grimmjow… is this your home?"

The former-Espada made no indication that he had heard; he did not look at Ichigo, or turn, and though his face betrayed no expression he replied none the less, after a brief pause as if he were deliberating whether or not he would answer answer, and perhaps quite what he would say if he did.

"No."

"Where is it?"

His fear seeped away as Grimmjow turned, dispelling the illusion that the moonlight had cast on him. It was a result, to have got him to react in that way, but all Ichigo could think or care about as the length of Grimmjow's shoulders shrugged was that the colour was back, the shade of his skin, the darkness underneath his eyes that bespoke too much to explain. The shadow of his cheekbone and his mask, the hollow of his throat, the lines of his collarbone and that long trace of a scar across his chest, that singular and most important of markings, just because it meant that Grimmjow could never forget him.

Those slashes of blue around his eyes were as vibrant as ever. It was Grimmjow again, not that expressionless creature he had seen a moment before, and the sight of him took a weight off his mind.

"Out there. Everywhere. Nowhere."

Ichigo sighed, and forced himself up a little further.

"Everyone has somewhere that feels like a home."

"I don't."

Uneasily, Ichigo stared a little longer at the other, wondering if anything more would be elicited. It appeared not. He rested a hand on a rock and tried to lever himself upwards, to his feet. The first time he was met with a wave of nausea, but he fought it and fell only to his knees, rather than back to the floor. He tried again a moment later, even though his vision was spotted with black, and managed. It hurt like hell, but the sort of pain that quickly fades, like a pressure headache. He wasn't sure if he was swaying or not, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he might have been. He decided not to care about that, for there seemed little point when he was unable to change it.

"Where did the arrancar go?"

Grimmjow waved a hand in the air, an indication of nothing. Ichigo could see no bodies, but that did not mean that they were not dead. He made his way to the rock that Grimmjow was sitting on to find that it was not as tall as it had appeared, and that Ichigo's shoulders only reached level with the former-Espada's knees. His head roared in pain like a frantic stampede, but he looked up into those blue, blue eyes, just to prove that he could.

He shook. He hated feeling this weak but supposed that it was a little inevitable, after a head injury, and it was not without too much dismay that he reached for the rock, to steady himself, because it meant he could stand a little closer. Before he could reach it, however, Grimmjow's hands closed around his wrists in a demanding and harsh grip. Ichigo's fingers flexed into fists and then relaxed as he caught Grimmjow's eyes, which were half-closed and full of apprehension. He could hear the throbbing drum of his own heartbeat, deafening in his ears, could feel the pulse of it in his throat, and oh god, Grimmjow's skin was warm. So warm. Too warm.

They stared at each other for a moment that felt like much longer, and slowly, with a patience that Ichigo did not know he possessed, he lifted one of Grimmjow's hands to his face and pressed it to his cheek. The former-Espada started like he had been burnt, and let go.

They looked at each other for a little longer, before Ichigo broke the stare and began to climb up onto the boulder. Grimmjow watched him without offering to help, though he did shuffle a little further across on the ledge so that Ichigo would have room to climb up over the edge. They sat staring at the sky, side by side, shoulders touching and taut with unspoken tension. Neither were quite willing to speak first, not knowing whether words would turn the atmosphere into total hostility or into something else entirely.

Grimmjow exhaled loudly after a while, and leant forward, hands on his elbows, staring at the floor. The line of his back was bare, the cords of muscle and indentations of bone prominent as if his skin had been stretched too thin. The six looked too stark, and Ichigo found that he was touching it before he realised what he was doing, as if to check that it was real. The lines were so clear cut, he couldn't help reflect, and so dissimilar to this situation. He traced a fingertip around the shape of it, first one way, and then the other, and Grimmjow shivered. Once more he moved with a blur of speed to pull Ichigo's wrist away from his skin, sitting up at he did so, not realising that it would put their faces so close to each other's.

Ichigo smelt of sweat and exhaustion and the line of blood that had dried on his forehead from a scrape. He didn't let go of Ichigo's wrist. He didn't think that he could.

* * *

"If he doesn't shut the fuck up soon I'm going to go out there and sort it out for him. Seriously, who the hell does he think he is kidding, with this 'I don't know what to say' bullshit? Just jump him, King, you idiot, we all know you want to!"

Zangetsu raised an eyebrow at the irate hollow who was stomping up and down skyscraper walls in fury as the scene unfolded before them. The window into the world outside of Ichigo's mind was strange; they could not literally see out of Ichigo's eyes, but being a part of him witnessed it none the less in a way that they struggled to explain. They never _saw_ anything, not properly, but they always knew what was going on as if they did. The only things they ever saw themselves were the moments Ichigo re-played in his own head as he thought, that came to them reflected from the windows of the buildings in fleeting moments, sometimes once, sometimes over and over again.

"You are taking rather too active an interest in this, do you know that?"

"I'm pissed off!"

"At least it has stopped raining."

The hollow paused, and thought about it.

"That is true. Small mercies. But look at the clouds, Zangetsu- you know it is going to start again soon enough if he doesn't sort this out. It's riding on him, any moron could see that this blue-haired bastard isn't going to make the first move. What, Ichigo'll go into battle in the face of certain death without a flicker of concern, but the thought of having to talk about _emotions_ he becomes fucking useless?"

Zangetsu inclined his head to the side, knowing full well that the situation was not as simple as that but refusing to argue with the hollow, having had enough experience with it to learn that there was nothing he could say that could dissuade him when he was on this sort of a rant.

"We could try talking to his zanpakuto, and see what it has to say?"

"Oh, hell no! This mind is crowded enough without inviting anyone else in! The King is flipping out enough without us having some metaphysical bullshitting conversation in here as well."

Zangetsu said nothing, his head inclined slightly to the side, watching something in the distance that the hollow was too irate to notice.

"I'm not sure if you're going to have a choice in the matter, you know."

"The fuck does that mean? I told you, I ain't talking to it! Besides, it's probably some stuck up, self-important little shit. I bet its form is some pathetic little house-cat, you know, or a fucking _rabbit_ again, and I can't deal with another one!"

"Sode no Shirayuki-"

"I don't give a fuck about her! Seriously! Those ears of hers piss me off. And-"

"I expect you are Kurosaki's hollow-side."

The hollow whirled around on the balls of his feet to see a cat padding through mid-air not too far behind him. She (for though her form was large and muscled there was something decidedly female about her deep and luxurious voice, something that curled the air in Ichigo's mind to ruffle the black and white juxtaposition of their uniform clothing) was tall, the top of her domed and wide head coming up to the hollow's chest, in shape and association something akin to a big cat, the one she was named after, most likely. There was the perceptible movement of muscle across her body as she walked, underneath her strange-coloured fur that seemed to be both grey and white, with black markings around her eyes and broken with patches of washed out blue so pale that faded in and out of sight, so that she seemed to change as she moved, shades in constant flux. She looked only a little like Grimmjow's menos form, and only really in shape, which surprised both spirits, who had anticipated a double.

She bowed her head in the direction of Zangetsu, who returned the gesture respectfully, for though Ichigo had defeated Grimmjow the last time they had fought in battle that did not mean that he could not sense the strength of this blade. In fact, he found himself a little overwhelmed by it, for she seemed far stronger than Grimmjow appeared, as if the former-Espada had not quite figured out how best to utilise the calm and much more deadly power that his zanpakuto had, and found it instead marred by his own temperament.

Zangetsu could empathise. He'd had to whack Ichigo around the head (not quite literally, unfortunately) for similar reasons.

"I am Pantera," she said, "though I expect you already know that. I have come here to request your advice."

Zangetsu nodded, understanding immediately, though the hollow was still screeching in the background his ignorance at 'what the fuck they were going on about' and 'why the fuck haven't you started fighting yet?'.

"Ichigo remains… hesitant, in light of Jaegerjaquez's own confusion. Though it is somewhat trying to observe, I must thank you for your wielder's actions, earlier. Ichigo being crushed to death would have been more than a set-back. I doubt it was an entirely conscious movement, but still. And in regards to advice, then for the moment we owe you, if only for that."

"I don't owe her a fucking thing!"

They both continued to ignore the hollow, who sat down on a wall with a petulant and audible huff. Pantera's tail flicked the air.

"How do you best teach Kurosaki the things he needs to know? Not in terms of battle, and technique, but in… life? We have spent so long caring only for that, and not needing to know anything else, and now I struggle to find the right words to ease our own confusion. Grimmjow has been exposed to emotion too suddenly, I fear. Well, new emotion. When he first saw Kurosaki in Karakura, after we reverted, I know that there was a part of him that expected to die, though he would never admit it. And since then, things have changed. It is as if… well, has the landscape of Kurosaki's mind ever changed?"

Zangetsu nodded.

"The scope of this city has come to reflect his own belief in his abilities. It grows in hope, and determination, but fear reduces the height of these buildings, shakes them to their very foundation."

The hollow grinned.

"You're such a pretentious shit sometimes, old man."

"It would seem that my own world shifts in similar ways, then. My impertinence may be too much, in questioning you in such private matters. It's just, the zanpakuto of arrancar are by nature, it would seem, very guarded. Conversation was never much of an option."

"Ya know, you sound like a right old woman, next to Grimmjow."

She turned to the neglected hollow, and there was a fire in her eyes. Up to this point it had been very hard to see the similarities between the two, but that immediate rage was made of the same sort of bitterness and hatred that Grimmjow's was; a silent howl, a scream, the taste of blood. The hollow only grinned back, the anger in the air sending a thrill through his body at the promise of violence. However, as soon as the annoyance had come it faded, and Pantera turned back to Zangetsu, calm once more on the surface though her tail still thrashed from side to side.

"You should remind your friend to keep his tongue behind his teeth, unless he wishes me to bite it off."

Zangetsu inclined his head to the side, neither agreeing or disagreeing with this view. However, before an argument ensued all three started a little at the sudden torrent of emotion that fell down on them. Thunder rolled ominously in the sky above the line of towers, and Pantera shifted, claws extending.

"I must leave. I shall return, to finish our conversation, soon enough, but Kurosaki's rage makes it difficult for me to remain here."

* * *

Ichigo had not felt this angry in a long time. They had stared at each other for longer than had seemed possible but he had broken it away, to glance down at the wrist that Grimmjow had still held, and then Grimmjow had leapt from their seat and away. Now he was standing apart, and all of a sudden that brief ease had evaporated, and he wanted it the fuck back. He wanted to be able to sit that close to Grimmjow without either of them feeling awkward. He wanted to be able to trace lines across his skin and only make the former-Espada shiver, and only in a good way. He hated the way they kept taking as many steps back as they were forward.

"Grimmjow, where are you gonna go now?"

His hands were closed fists at his side as he got down of the boulder, the ache in his head forgotten as he gritted his teeth and tried to stop himself from yelling or reaching for his zanpakuto. Grimmjow turned to him, and though his eyes were open they looked a little unfocused. Ichigo reached for words, tried to fathom exactly what he wanted to say, but his mouth was a traitor, and failed him. Grimmjow didn't even look at him, just stared upwards at the sky, visible through the shattered roof as only a portion of the endless black.

His voice was hoarse, almost choked.

"I could be King, King of all of this."

"Grimmjow."

Though Ichigo spoke his name almost a whisper, soft, it stopped the would-be-King, who folded his arms behind his head, still watching the moon.

"King of _what_?"

The response was as sharp and malevolent as he had expected, though given with perhaps less drive than he was used to.

"You don't have a clue, Shinigami, so don't pretend like you do."

"You're being a fucking idiot. I know all about it, Grimmjow. Power? You think I don't know what it feels like to be able to reach for a power that I _shouldn't_ take?"

"It's different."

Grimmjow was either being an ass or deliberately insulting, Ichigo concluded, though for the life of him he couldn't decided which was worse. Though his anger was like the sting of bile at the back of his throat, he ignored the urge to let this descend into just another argument.

"I _do_ understand, Grimmjow."

The Espada looked at him, head on one side, unsmiling.

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Doesn't make a damn difference, either way, does it?"

Grimmjow stuffed his hands in his pockets, grabbing hold of the fabric to stop himself doing something reckless. Faced with such a meaningless and meaningful response, Ichigo's rage did not die away but he felt suddenly tired, exhausted almost, the sort that came after a long battle that he had forgotten the point and reason of, and he had not even raised his blade gainst Grimmjow. His fists unclenched, nails pulling out of the indents in his skin, and then clenched again.

"What do you mean?"

"You saw them, those arrancars. Sure, they ain't the best, but at least they see me as a leader. At least they want me here, need me to be what they wanna be. And besides, it's not like I've got a reason not to do it, have I?"

Ichigo could feel an incredible sense of deja-vu washing over him. Words, words, words. Why did it always come down to what he knew he _should_ be saying? This was yet another of those unanswerable questions that Grimmjow had posed for him, every time before he had been stuck. Perhaps it was the way Grimmjow looked right now, somehow alone even though they stood close, perhaps it was his own anger that he could not just press himself against the former-Espada to chase that loneliness away; perhaps it was just because he was too damn tired of the whole situation, but right now the right thing to say came to him. Keeping silent was not going to fix anything, he had always known that, but now he thought that he might actually be able to see a way to cross the gulf that had grown between them, unspoken words that needed, that _yearned_, to be said. Ignoring his feelings, never vocalising what he thought, showing it all in action- those sort of things had always characterized him, but right now, he wanted to break the mould.

_You're growing, Ichigo. _

"There's a reason."

Grimmjow had started to turn away. He had not expected an answer from Ichigo that time either, and who could blame him, but as it reached him he stopped himself, and turned back to face Ichigo, whose orange hair looked so out of place against the monochrome setting. Ichigo stood firm, but his eyes were cast towards the ground, his fingers laced on the back on his neck. It looked as if he was trying to force his head down, trying to force himself not to meet the gaze of the former-Espada, as if that admission was something he wished to hide from.

Maybe he did. But then, he had said it, and wasn't that what counted?

"What?"

He took a step closer, hands still clenched in his pockets. He bent a little, to try and see Ichigo's face, but it was obscured by shadow.

"You heard me."

Grimmjow felt an unnatural tightness across his chest that he still did not have a name for. He thought of it as just the feeling that Ichigo made him feel, had been making him feel ever since the boy had reached out and stroked the shell of his Adjuchas ear. It had made the fur along his back stand on end, had provoked him to talk, but this time he was not sure what to say.

"Say it again."

And then Ichigo was looking straight at him, eyes nearly black with fury. Grimmjow could taste hollow on the air, and he knew where it was coming from. Part frustration, part ire, part pain, that was the way Ichigo always seemed when turning to the side of him that always knew the right buttons to press. Inside Ichigo's head, that hollow was crowing with delight.

"You fucking heard me the first time."

"Yeah."

The power was making the hair on his arms stand on end, but he took a step closer anyway. It was intoxicating, that energy- the warmth of welcome, the bite of battle; open arms and drawn blades. Maybe it was wrong that the thought of blood and pain was mixed in to the emotions that he felt for Ichigo, but at that moment, it only felt right.

Grimmjow grinned, that so-familiar, arrogant smirk.

"But I fucking want you to say it _again_."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

You know what? I'm a mean author. I give you cliffhangers and no kisses, but all is about to change, because for once, I am going to be nice. And you thought I was cruel: we even compared me to Aizen… but it turns out I have a good side. Holy shit, I'm Gin now. *note to self. Must stop comparing myself to fictional characters.

This chapter? I'm not entirely satisfied with it. I may go back at some point and re-work it, but for now I shall continue to press forward.

Thank you, as ever, to all your wonderful reviews and comments. It means the world to me that so many people have favourite-d and alerted this mad attempt at trying to pretend that Grimmjow isn't dead. I love you all. There are too many wonderful people to list.

**Chapter Fifteen**

"_You fucking heard me the first time."_

"_Yeah… But I fucking want you to say it again."_

For Ichigo, the world had stilled all but for his heartbeat, which echoed around his head like the drums of war. He could still taste the blood in his mouth from his head injury, and it seemed as if the frantic pace of his blood was its attempts to get out of him, up through his throat, gagging him: he longed to touch, to run fingers along bared skin and into heated, hidden placed, but all he found that he could do was land his palm on Grimmjow's chest, face down on the long scar that Ichigo himself had left there. He stared at that scar, at the raised edges and the silk-soft tissue, at the place where it marred with the rest of his lightly tanned skin.

It distracted him for a moment, and he let his hand slide up the skin until it grasped Grimmjow's throat, not quite reaching all the way around it but close enough. His hold was not tight enough to be uncomfortable, or a threat, but it was not lax, either, as if he was still trying to decide what he intended to do with him. The heat of his skin made him ache, ran through him with a throbbing concentration as if he were actually holding onto Grimmjow's heart, forcing his blood to beat faster than it naturally would, to match Ichigo's own. That thought lingered around his mind for a while, the idea of reaching deep down into Grimmjow's chest and being in full control of his life, his very essence.

Grimmjow was staring down at his bowed head, at the bright and ridiculously lurid hair that he couldn't help but like, and a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a moan was ripped out of his throat as he felt Ichigo press his mouth against the top of his scar, almost at the point between the defined lines of his collarbones. It was a sudden and unexpected movement, and Ichigo was as surprised as Grimmjow was at his daring.

Grimmjow's breath hitched, and he could feel the movement of his own throat against Ichigo's hand, his skin moving and contracting against the palm of it. He wasn't sure why that was such an arousing feeling, quite why then sensation of pseudo-strangulation felt so good, but it did, and he inexplicably felt himself moving a little closer as Ichigo moved back, as if they were connected, and couldn't be apart. It was a curious reversal of situations, him being defenceless like this, as he was far more used to being the one in the control, but Pantera purred in his mind, trying to get him to rest. She was not calm, and was not assured, but she was not ready to fight, not yet.

_I've always told you, Grimmjow love, you always react too quickly. You need to see where the moment takes you._

_That's because every time I am slow I end up nearly dying, you stupid wench. _

_Not this time, Grimmjow. Stop being stubborn. You need to just admit what you already understand._

_The hell do you know?_

_Everything, Grimmjow, when it comes to you._

He slammed the barriers that he had built against his zanpakuto a long time ago down, severing their conversation with a rather dramatic flourish, and he reached out, grabbing hold of Ichigo's hair, pulling him roughly back so that they stood chest to chest, skin on skin, touching. He tightened his fist without meaning to do so, gripping that bright orange hair until it must have hurt Ichigo, though he didn't realise that he was doing so. He was too busy looking deep into half-closed eyes, too dark to read but warm, so warm. It suddenly felt too quiet, the silence that surrounded them, too heavy, as if it were weighing down on them, and it made him want to scream.

"Grimmjow?"

He almost jumped at the sound, even though he had watched Ichigo forming the words, and had been waiting for him to say something. It was just because it broke the silence, he thought, because it seemed to shatter it around him, Ichigo's voice far louder in his mind than the almost-whisper had actually been. In fact, had they been in a louder place, he might have missed his name, but he had been watching him, staring at him Ichigo, waiting for a movement or a word or _anything_.

"What?"

His own voice was hoarse, as if he had not used it in months, perhaps years. In a way he felt that maybe he hadn't- or at least, not in any significant way.

"You're hurting me."

He let go instantly, as if he had been burnt by it, though he was not sure why it suddenly mattered so much that he had caused Ichigo pain. God knows, he had done it before, in a whole variety of ways. It shouldn't have mattered to him so much, he knew, and yet he did, irrationally, irregularly, and entirely irritatingly. Ichigo was still standing close, and every time he inhaled and his chest rose it brought them just that little bit closer. Grimmjow watched that rise and fall for a brief while, almost mesmerised by the small piece of skin that his shinigami uniform exposed.

The line of his neck was quite beautiful, long and strong, cordons flexing underneath the skin and visible at just the slightest of movements. His skin was almost the colour of cream, smooth and untouched and without any visible scars, though he knew that Ichigo had his fair share of them hidden away on his body, because he had left some himself. He was struck with a longing to discover those scars, to trace each one with the slow, torturous line of his tongue. He would blow on those damp lines afterwards, to see if he could make Ichigo shiver. Each one would be given its turn, from the very smallest and inconsequential to the largest and most brutal. They would lie there, Ichigo on the sheets and Grimmjow over him, moving from place to place on his body, and he would tell the former-Espada the story behind each scar: some would be from childhood, he thought: the faintest of lines on his scalp from when he fell over, an equally small but deeper one on his forehead from when he cracked his head open in his youth. There would be the ones from battles of course, too: long and fine from slicing blades, short from thrusts. Burns, too, probably, and the various lingering impression of zanpakuto's abilities and the like. Some he might even have picked up in training. Grimmjow found himself wild with curiosity of those scars that he could not even see all of a sudden, and took a deep breath.

Ichigo was baffled. That Grimmjow was so willing to acquiesce, and release his death-grip on his hair, was so strange, and defied so much expectation that he actually reeled a little when he did, not expecting to be let go at all. His hands flew briefly to his hair, and he touched his head gingerly, almost without meaning to do so. Grimmjow's hand landed instead on his shoulder, not letting him get any further away. Without quite meaning to do so, he reached up to touch that hand, like one would to a lover offering comfort, perhaps, and that thought made him shiver with a patent mixture of expectation and pleasure.

Would they ever be able to get like that, Ichigo wondered? Would they ever be able to get to a point of such comfort with each other that such gestures would be nothing more than fucking _mundane, _so wonderfully and comfortingly mundane that they would not think anything of sitting side by side, hands resting on top of each other? Of leaning against one another, as well, or of sleeping in a curled up pile of limbs? There were so many things he could dream of, so many possible situations that he wanted to experience: he wanted to be part of a couple, to act… But then, it was Grimmjow, wasn't it? And as much as he wanted the other, (more now, he realised upon seeing him again) those sort of situations just were not going to happen. The best he would get, he supposed, was a friendly slap around the face as they sparred. A very romantic couple, they would be-

Woah Ichigo, he reminded himself. First things first. You have to get to that part, although quite how that was possible he wasn't sure. The enormity of the situation struck him: how to turn a one-time enemy into a full-time lover? God, it sounded like a poor self-help book.

He rubbed at his face with the flat of his hands, and then bowed his head.

Grimmjow, completely unaware of the mental dilemma that Ichigo was currently going through, closed his eyes for a moment, and felt himself leaning forward. He rested his forehead against Ichigo, suddenly too tired to think about anything, too tired to work out what the feelings exploding through him meant. He just wanted to reach out to him all the time, to touch Ichigo, to pull those black robes off his skin and see what was underneath. He wanted to find out what it was that made Ichigo burn, what made him tick, what places that, when treated right, could make him writhe and moan and scream aloud with delight. He wanted time. He wanted a history with him that didn't involve battles and blood and too many words that he didn't mean, too many things that he did mean and didn't know how to say, too many emotions that had broken him down and built him up into the sort of person that he was, who wasn't necessarily the best person that he could have been.

And _shit, _but he wanted to be the sort of person that didn't question himself in that way, and if he couldn't go back, then he had to go forward somewhere.

Their noses were almost touching, and without thinking properly Ichigo took a step away, putting a gap between them that he instantly wanted gone.

_King, you can be such a fucking virgin sometimes._

_Shut your fucking mouth!_

_Just because it's true…_

"Grimmjow, what happened to the arrancar?"

He blinked, surprised only for a moment by the sudden change in conversation, away from the real crux of the matter. He supposed that he couldn't talk- they were as guilty as each other when it came to delaying the inevitable. He exhaled heavily, and ran a hand through his hair, carding it back from his scalp and causing it to stand even more haphazardly on end. It was only then that Ichigo realised just how tired Grimmjow looked, eyes forced smaller than normal in fatigue, sweat and white dust dried on his skin and rubbed forcefully away so that only a little remained on his jaw, in his hairline. Ichigo reached up, and wiped some off with his thumb, earning something that was almost a smile like those that the old Grimmjow gave.

"What do you care?"

Ichigo shrugged, a little.

"I was unconscious. I wake up, and they're gone. I'm a little concerned that they might be sneaking back up on us. I want to know."

That wasn't what he was worried about at all, though he wouldn't tell Grimmjow what he was really asking, what he _really_ wanted to know. He was pretty sure that the old Grimmjow would have slaughtered them illogically for the hell of it, but as for the tired and downcast Grimmjow that he had found sitting in front of the throne… well, maybe he wouldn't have done. He had seemed so keen on ruling them, so keen on being the King of the dilapidating race, that Ichigo found himself unsure of what had gone on.

Grimmjow groaned to himself and took a step back, away from Ichigo and the question. He hadn't thought about it at the time, not rationally (though, in fairness he had never applied much logic to his fighting). He had thrown Ichigo out of the way, moving faster than he had thought possible to push him out of the way. The thought of Ichigo being crushed underneath those rocks had cut him through in the way that no blade had ever been able to do, had pushed the veil that he had kept pulled over his feelings for Ichigo aside. All that had been important to him in that moment had been saving Ichigo's life, and shit if that wasn't a scary thought all on it's own.

And he had succeeded, though Ichigo got knocked around the head by a flying piece of rubble and he himself had been caught in the lower back by another block. He'd have a son of a bitch of a bruise there soon enough, but he didn't care about that right now. The moment he had seen that Ichigo was still breathing and that he wasn't in any immediate danger his concern had turned to rage, a rage so consuming and filling that he could barely contain it. It energized him and set him alight, and his eyes hazed over at the thought that these people, these pathetic, _useless_ bastards had dared to raise a hand in Ichigo's direction, had even considered that they could try and take him away from him, from _Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez_!

He had sat slowly up, gotten to his feet, and drawn Pantera out of her sheath with a shriek of animal rage that he heard only in his head.

His lip had curled as he had looked at them, taking in the line of them and the increasingly nervous expressions on their faces. His glare had made them shiver: there had been a smouldering anger in there, something so intense that it had made them take a step backwards. There was so much rage in him, he shook with the force of it. It filled the half-destroyed room with an intense energy so heavy that it made their knees want to buckle, and some of them even did. He had grabbed for the first with a speed that they didn't anticipate, and took a hold of him by the arm, digging his nails in so deep that it bled. He kept hold, his fingers digging deep into the flesh until they were into the arms knuckle deep. He ripped the chunk right out, grin widening at the arrancar screamed, and collapsed to the ground. There was the deepest shard of ice in Grimmjow's eyes, something fresh and new and terrifyingly cold, that spoke of no pity or remorse whatsoever.

"They're dead, Kurosaki. The hell does it matter?"

They were more than dead. The group of arrancar had been _decimated_. No one would have been able to recognise them for the brief moments that they had still lived.

"I thought you wanted to be the King of them, Grimmjow? What happened to ruling this world?"

He shrugged, and Ichigo moved a step closer again. He didn't say anything, but Ichigo supposed that he didn't have to anymore. He had killed them- that much was obvious- but the fact that he had done… didn't that suggest that perhaps Grimmjow had thought of an option for the future that was something else? A future that didn't involve Hueco Mundo?

Ichigo was back again, nearer than a heartbeat away and pressed so close against his chest that he thought it might hurt, had it not felt so good. He was staring up at him with an intensity that shook him through to his very centre: it felt as if Ichigo was looking through him, looking right into him, reading him in a way that not even he could. Pantera was growling now in the echoing caverns of his metaphysical plane of thought, but he could not feel the prick of extended claws against the landscape of his mind, which meant that she was not too concerned, not yet, just a little worried perhaps. He could almost feel the phantom-fur of his old body stand on end, and it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. He shivered.

His fingers grazed over Ichigo's cheek, nails leaving faint red lines across his skin.

He wondered for a moment if he should have already prepared himself for death, because all of a sudden this seemed like the perfect way to destroy an opponent completely, in body and resolve and in mind, because right now, if Ichigo had tried to kill him, he would not have been able to fight the body whose warmth was seeping through him. It was too warm; too, painfully, warm. Warm enough to break him.

And that thought killed him a little bit inside, because it pulled apart all of his beliefs and intentions and thoughts; all that he based his way of life on, and all that he clung to in order to give his life some meaning. Without the pressing need to fight back, he found himself feeling strangely useless, as if he had been deflated.

But then Ichigo's hands were back on his throat as they had been before, but now more like a caress than a threat, an embrace in the strangest and most absolute of ways. Ichigo was raised a little on the balls of his feet, he thought, and he would have laughed at that but for the fact that, with a sudden movement that might have been either of them, their mouths met, his bone scraping against Ichigo's cheek.

Ichigo had not been thinking- or at least, not thinking logically, anyway. Once upon a time, the thought of even talking to Grimmjow would have been unfeasible, but now he was kissing him, and the former-Espada, his former enemy, was not responding at all, his hands still at his sides and his mouth unmoving. Ichigo hadn't been sure quite what to expect from the other had this situation ever come up, but knowing Grimmjow as he did, he anticipated rage, and that wasn't really an unrealistic or unreasonable thought: he's been punched for far less, after all. It seemed to be a bit of a staple between the two of them. Even though he was not convinced that Grimmjow did not feel that same… way, the same thing, the same confused and fucked up cataclysm of irresponsible and improbable emotion, he had no way to prove it, and it was not exactly normal of Grimmjow for him to act rationally, anyway.

Ichigo pulled away. The look in Grimmjow's eyes made him want to run, because there was a passion in there that he could not read, and in his expectation of anger he assumed that it would be. He felt suddenly as if he were a rabbit, caught in the headlights, a sacrificial lamb left out to bleed before a great, ancient and malevolent god. His hand had fallen to rest against Grimmjow's stomach, on his abdomen, just above the hollow hole. There was a press of muscle there, and he let his other hand fall from the former Espada's throat, to his own side. He did not know it, but his eyes were wide, the whites shot with blood and the pupils dilated.

Zangetsu was too far away. He would never reach him on time, would never even be able to defend himself.

_D'you think this is the end, King?_

_If it will be, do I have to die hearing your voice, you bastard?_

But then arms wrapped around him, pulling him so tight against Grimmjow's own body that it felt like his ribcage was about to break underneath the pressure. His mouth was back on Ichigo's, forcing it open for a kiss with tongue and teeth in it- it was rough, and a little painful, and a coil of heat began to tighten in Ichigo's chest as his breath was lost somewhere a long the way between the heat of the two of them. He could feel the rough edge of the scar against his lips, and briefly touched his tongue to the point of Grimmjow's feral teeth before it was pushed back into his own mouth by the barrage of Grimmjow's kiss. He gave as good as he got, pressing his hips into Grimmjow's with a sudden and hard thrust that caused Grimmjow's hands around him to tighten.

His hand fisted in Grimmjow's hair, pulling his head to a better angle.

Ichigo opened his eyes, out of a fatal curiosity- he needed to check that there was no malice in Grimmjow's, but the former Espada's eyes were closed anyway. He could see the tracing of veins underneath the skin, but the eyelids were dominated by the blue markings, which went right across in one long, unbroken slash. He hadn't noticed that before.

There were probably a lot of things that he hadn't noticed before.

His nerves felt alight, and Grimmjow's mouth was hot and damp and they fought for dominance, tongues pressing in and out of each other's mouths as hands fisted in fabric and hair and around shoulders, sliding over exposed skin, fast and almost furious in the brevity of the kiss. Grimmjow pressed against his mouth with a finality, and pulled back, though their bodies stayed as tightly together as if they were welded together by some unseeing hand. He reached for Ichigo's hand once more, where it was resting against his torso, and took hold of the fist, pressing it ever harder against his body, as if he wanted to make it leave a bruise, perhaps to match the ones that would litter Ichigo's hips from where his fingertips had been dug in.

The kiss had only been brief, but it seemed to convey most of what Ichigo had struggled so hard to say aloud, although he was well aware that that might still not be enough. When they pulled apart a little more, Ichigo's hands were shaking. He fisted them, to hide it, and saw that Grimmjow's hands were exactly the same.

"I l-"

"Shut up."

Ichigo's eyes were wide, but on Grimmjow's face there was just the slightest hint of red, tingeing his cheeks in embarrassment, and the faintest hint of panic.

"Just don't fucking say it."

He could feel Grimmjow's breath, hot against his cheeks, before he buried his face in Ichigo's neck, making good use of his mouth as Ichigo forced his next word out between clenched teeth. He remained unable to still his hands, he couldn't think straight, but he ghosted them up the other's sides, a faint echo of those dreams that felt a thousand years ago now that were suddenly, strangely, coming true.

"Why?"

Grimmjow paused, pressed his bared teeth to Ichigo's reddening neck, not in a bite this time but more like some sort of feral kiss, before pulling back. He stared for a moment at the tender skin he had just attacked, almost the colour of pearl in this soft and personal spot. It faded through to the colour of wheat at the curve of his shoulder, where it was patterned with almost invisible freckles. He had a momentary urge to see if he could kiss each one of them, in turn. His eyes moved away as he straightened up fully, looking down at the other, quirking an eyebrow at the somewhat flustered look in the boy's eyes, though he himself was not unmoved. The red marking on Ichigo's neck matched perfectly the one on his cheek, and the blush that patterned his face, and he was strangely proud of that. He tilted his head back, as if he were examining a prize.

"Because if you say it, then I'll say it too, and then we'll be in whole fucking heap of trouble."

Ichigo grinned, devilish and sure.

"You say that like we're not already."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_**dishrag-chan**- your reviews break me. Stop being so good. And your new chapter has been waiting for me, I've been saving it until I got this up and done. Thank you for being an absolute muse.  
__**elwing59**- In terms of where this plot is going, I currently have no idea. My original story-line was only eight chapters, so the plan sort of went out of the window... I guess we'll just have to see where my imagination takes me. As several people have commented, it isn't exactly going to be easy sailing for these two once they get back to Karakura.  
__**Catori1207**- "__I check for updates everyday the same way a giddy preteen waits for tweets from Justin Beiber". You legend. This had me laughing for about an hour.  
__**Cynoyonrae**- I'm curious as to what "really gay-ass fruity dreams" consist of. I think I suffer from them, too: maybe it is a registered disease? And I'm sorry I broke you.  
__**Aya-ItaLover**- *spins maniacally around with you*  
__**nmhotel**- don't deny that Aizen's trollish ways are a little bit amusing. Even if he does look like a butterfly.  
__**banifi**- thank you so much- you have me blushing. : ) _

Sorry for the delay, everything is crazy busy at the minute: I'm moving out next weekend (err, nervous much?). Errr, apologies for this chapter.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"_Because if you say it, then I'll say it too, and then we'll be in whole fucking heap of trouble."_

"S'not like we've never been in trouble before, Grimmjow."

Ichigo was not overly perturbed by the interruption to what he had been trying to say. Though it was important, now that the moment had passed he wasn't sure if he was even ready to say it. Besides, hopefully there would be the time for those things, later. Hopefully there would _be_ a later.

The former-Espada laughed, a short, sharp sound as he scuffed the sand with his feet, kicking at shards of white rock, resisting the urge to sink to the ground.

"True."

The silence reigned between them for a moment that felt much longer than it was, and Ichigo was furiously embarrassed to realise that he was blushing, and couldn't quite meet Grimmjow's stare. Instead, he focused on his mask, at the bared, white teeth that stood out with impressive contrast against his skin. For once, his head was silent of the invading voices that plagued his consciousness- perhaps they were as baffled as he was at the sudden change of pace, the sudden turn of events. Perhaps they were occupied with something else entirely: either way, right now, he was only grateful for their silence. Bitchy comments from his hollow or words of gnomic and rhetoric wisdom from his zanpakuto really were not what he needed right now.

If he _ever_ needed them.

It was not a comfortable silence, not by any stretch of the imagination. This was not the silence of two people entirely comfortable with each other, of two people who had found that balance, that middle ground. He was still half waiting, he had to admit, for Grimmjow to run away again, or for some dramatic interruption. He found his mouth running away with him, continuing to talk even as he yelled at himself to stop.

"At least this way I'm not having to fight anyone, right?"

Ichigo winced, realising as he said it how potentially aggravating that might have sounded to the former-Espada, how that once might have provoked a fight just on principle. However, to his surprise Grimmjow did not even seem to register it, just rolled his eyes and made some sort of noise of agreement. Ichigo fisted his hands into his uniform, and wondered if it might be okay to kiss Grimmjow again now. He contemplated asking whether or not he could, but thought that it might sound like something too easy for amused abuse.

Grimmjow said nothing, just shrugged at Ichigo's wide-eyed expression that spoke reams of questions, even if he didn't know it did: simply a lazy roll of his shoulders as his eyes flickered over Ichigo's face, flushed and for once not scowling, coming back over and over again to the raw mark that his mask had left on Ichigo's cheek. It was only small, more of a reddened indent than a scrape of skin, but he liked it. It looked… permanent. He raised a finger to it, and wondered abstractly if he could make it bleed if he tried hard enough. If he could make it a proper graze, a proper wound, something that would make Ichigo wince every now again as it gave a twinge of pain at the movement of his cheek, so that he would never forget Grimmjow's presence, even if he wasn't around all of the time.

It might scar, even. That thought filled him with a heat, tightened his chest, made him want to try even harder to do it. Ichigo had scars, quite a few of them, and he'd seen some, knowing that there were others. He wanted to look at each of them, found himself inexplicably wanting to know their story. His own scars had faded through change: as soon as he had reverted to-and-fro his Adjuchas form he had realised that most of them had gone. For a long time, he had defined himself by the battles that he had fought (and really, he still _did_ define himself that way), and now they had all gone he felt like a clean canvas, as if he could almost start over, do things a new way.

The thought surprised him, he had to admit. It made him think of possibilities, of a future. He had never thought of anything like that before.

Ichigo's body remained a map of his past: there were scars there from every person he had fought, from battles and sparring and falls when he was a kid. Grimmjow wanted to make a new scar, one that meant something else... something better.

He could see Ichigo trying not to smile, but there was the slightest pull at the corner of his mouth that betrayed him. Grimmjow blinked down at him, unused, as most people were, to the sight of it. It made him smile just a little in response, and he reached up to rub the pad of his thumb over the crease of Ichigo's lips. They parted under the pressure, grazing teeth across skin. Grimmjow pressed his mouth to the underside of Ichigo's ear, amused by the soft sigh that it elicited. He made to draw back, just to torment, but Ichigo's hand stopped his movement, holding the back of his neck.

"Do that again."

If there was a contest for deviant smiles, Grimmjow would have walked away with the bronze, silver and gold. As well as an aroused and stammering judges' phone number. The smile was just _that_ good. Ichigo's blush deepened, and his need increased.

"You want me to do it again?"

"Yeah, you asshole. Again. A hundred times more."

"You fucking woman. Getting needy already, Kurosaki?"

A hefty punch in his stomach made him grunt, though he didn't seem to flinch all that much, to Ichigo's half-amused irritation.

"Fuck off. If I want you to kiss me, then you'll damn well do it!"

Grimmjow pressed back against Ichigo's neck, his tongue flickering out just to taste. He could feel the beat of Ichigo's own pulse against his jaw, and it made him want to bite, a deep-rooted primal urge that he couldn't explain away. And, to be honest, didn't really want to. His words ghosted against Ichigo's throat, a warm, damp heat that set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. Grimmjow could feel himself stirring, and tried to find some sort of gap in the black uniform to slip his hand in.

"Make me."

Ichigo's shoulders sagged, his resolve suddenly weakened as a thought suddenly struck him. It was ironic that, as soon as he had felt such a mind-blowing happiness, he had started to wonder how the hell they were ever going to manage any sort of continuity with it. He tried to shake it out of his head, tried not to detract away from the pleasure, but it bit too deep into his mind to let go. He licked his lip, strangely nervous.

"This is gonna be hard, y'know."

Grimmjow pulled back, feeling the change in body language. He stared at Ichigo's frown, a little bit bemused, not quite understanding the hesitant expression on Ichigo's face. As far as he was concerned, everything made pretty perfect sense.

"What, making me? I mean, I know I'm awesome, but that's pretty defeatist."

A fist slammed against his chest, palm down, and he could feel the huff of Ichigo's annoyance moving through his chest.

"No, you idiot. I mean… us."

He rolled his eyes, and rested their foreheads together.

"Stop fucking worrying. You want it to work?"

Ichigo nodded, silence by Grimmjow's strangely authoritative tone of voice.

"Well, then we'll make it happen, alright? Geez, you get all emotional about stupid shit, don't you?"

"Shut the hell up. Does that mean… that you want it to happen, as well?"

"God you really are an idiot. Have I stabbed you yet? No."

He pulled Grimmjow's body flat against him, the heat of skin-on-skin making his eyes flicker closed and his hips thrust forward to meet the expectant warmth and hardness. He was smugly satisfied by Grimmjow's surprised moan, but forgot about it as teeth met his throat and ripped his breath right out of him. He felt himself boneless, held against Grimmjow by the former Espada's arms, locked around his frame like iron bars. Grimmjow himself felt more alive than he had done since he had last fought Ichigo, that time when death had stolen upon him and had left him, just, bleeding and broken in the white sand. Things couldn't have been more different, now, and he couldn't have been more glad of it.

His voice was a hoarse whisper in Ichigo's ear.

"Are you sure about this?"

He pressed his forehead against Ichigo's once more, closing his eyes.

"I've not been sure about anything, for a while."

* * *

Pantera stared in bemused silence at the reconfigured landscape that was Grimmjow's mind. She could still remember the years of bare sand, stretching out as far as the eye could see and further. She had padded through sluggish, shallow rivers of blood, leaving paw-prints up and down dunes, staining his thoughts with the constant reminder of violence. Once, she had stared into the distance and wondered where those rivers lead, but now there was something far more interesting to take her mind away from it.

She was glad.

There were valleys. There was rock. The sand lead into gentle slopes, and then up even further into great, cliffs, reaching high. There was no horizon line anymore, no great, far off distance that always left her wandering, wondering, angry that she could never reach out and take a hold of whatever was just over that evasive line, what she had missed. There was too much to look at- shadows and shrubs and the caves, leading deep into the heart of the mountain. No trees yet, but the hint of budded green in the dirt that had just the slightest suggestion of a sapling, of something more, about to grow. There were even waterfalls, and was it her imagination, but did the bloodied water look a little thinner, a little less stagnated and thick?

She wondered what it meant, the mountains of Grimmjow's mind. The end of shifting sands, of pointless frustration at nothing? She could not imagine ever being angry without reason here, although she knew that it would hardly mean that Grimmjow would become a calm soul. Far from it, she thought: the lack of purpose but to follow the trailing rivers of blood had frustrated him, but the highs and the lows of the range were enough to keep any person constantly changing.

There was a sun. It had always been night here before, the black endlessness of Hueco Mundo with only the slightest shard of white moonlight to set the sand on silver-fire. She couldn't see where this new sun was, tucked away somewhere behind the crags and crevasses of the new world, but the light was warmer, perhaps a little brighter.

She flexed her claws, and stretched outwards.

She had realised, though she never had thought about it before, that these mountains had not grown around her, they had not sprung out of the ground like magic: all this time, she had thought that they were creeping up on her, but in fact, without realising it, in her constant and meaningless wanderings she had been moving _towards_ them. They had spent their whole lives, as long as she could remember (and, she expected, even longer) never stopping, never halting, never looking at anything but where the rivers of battle and blood and violence and mayhem might lead. That far-off _something_ had never got any closer, but somewhere along the way she had changed her course, left the rivers behind them, and walked in a different direction, to find something new.

She had found what was over the horizon.

And she had to admit, it was quite beautiful.

_Elsewhere, a little later, on some other metaphysical plane…_

"I apologise for the second intrusion, Zangetsu."

Ichigo's hollow jumped about a foot in the (metaphorical) air.

"What the fuck! How the hell can you move so quietly?"

Pantera and Zangetsu ignored him. He was rather annoyed, as it seemed to becoming something of a habit. As a good-looking and powerful creature (as far as he was concerned), he should have been given much more respect than he was: even Ichigo beat him the fuck around whenever he bothered to actually give a damn. One stuck-up-its-own-ass zanpakuto wandering around in the increasingly cramped mental space was enough. Two was just a mind-fuck.

"Please, you're more than welcome."

"No she's freakin' not! Get here the hell out of here!"

A heavy roll of power barrelled into the hollow but he stood firm: it wasn't as if he didn't have his own strength to fight back. There was a whiplash of conflict, a flash of colours in flux, before Zangetsu's deep voice reverberated through the space.

"Stop this."

Pantera bowed her head in a wordless and almost indecipherable apology, but the hollow only scowled, and settled himself down cross-legged mid-air.

"So what the fuck d'you want?"

"I don't understand how this is going to work. The two of them..."

The ripples of Zangetsu's coat, black scraps of fabric moving in an impossible wind, seemed to move a little quicker, wrapping around him tighter, shrouding him further.

"You underestimate Ichigo's determination. If he wants something, then nothing will get in his way. And from observation, your own Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is not prone to giving up, either."

Pantera sighed, and settled herself down a little further away from the hollow.

"I do not doubt their resolve, Zangetsu. My concern lies elsewhere. Grimmjow is not going to go unnoticed for long, and you will not be able to remain in Hueco Mundo. The Soul Society is not going to let that lie, and any strong hollows will be drawn to fighting Grimmjow, only proving to them that he is more of a threat."

"And is he a threat? Does he still intend to wreak havoc on the ordered afterlife?"

She looked away, upwards, at the rolling clouds above the skyscrapers of Ichigo's mental plane. They were thinning, she noticed: here and there, you could even see the faintest hint of blue.

"I don't know what he intends, anymore. The future is… uncertain, to us."

A cackling laugh broke the almost sorrowful atmosphere as the hollow rejoined the conversation, yellow eyes bright and wild.

"Well then, we're gonna be in for a fucking wild ride, aren't we?"

* * *

"Do you ever think about situations in life, things that you know you want? I always wonder if things are something that I'll grow out of, like you grow out of toys and fears and people."

Grimmjow raised his eyebrow, wondering what the fuck Ichigo was blathering about now. He contemplated a bitchy comment for a moment, before deciding that he didn't want a punch to the face, and settled instead for amused teasing. To further his point he squeezed Ichigo a little tighter around the waist.

"You gonna grow out of me?"

"Might do. Depends if you're too much of a bitch."

Grimmjow laughed aloud, pulling the other closer to him. There was a long silence as Ichigo shifted back and forth in Grimmjow's unrelenting embrace, flexing his fingers in the hair that they were currently entangled in, half wondering if _all_ of his hair was that same, vibrant blue.

"Grimmjow… d'you have feelings for me?"

"The hell is wrong with you?"

"I think it's a pretty fair question!"

"_I_ think that you're pretty retarded, you dick."

Reality was blurring too much for Ichigo: this was all so surreal. The monochrome landscape that always looked so cold, the ruined splendour, the warmth of another person's body against his. Not just a person, in fact: a person that he had once fought with, that had hated him, that had tried to kill him. What was even stranger was that he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He hid his blush in Grimmjow's shoulder, closing his eyes as his senses were abused with the smell of sweat and skin and the coppery rust of dried blood. Questions kept coming to him, forcing their way out of him against his will.

"Is that a yes?"

Grimmjow sounded uncomfortable, put on the spot, but Ichigo couldn't say that he really cared all that much.

"I suppose."

The former-Espada rested his chin on Ichigo's bowed head, and stared up at the broken apart roof. Coming to accept that the feelings he felt whenever Ichigo was around had been a lengthy process, but he had had time to think about it in the white-walled solitude of Las Noches; anger had always been on the surface, but they were only the ripples that spread across a deep, swift current. There had been too much going on underneath it, and he supposed that it was inevitable that he was swept away. From the moment he had felt Kurosaki's power… well.

"Since when?"

He turned his eyes away from the vast, dark sky and back to the body pressed against his.

"I don't remember."

"W-"

"Like a circle."

"What?"

Ichigo was baffled. Perhaps rightly so.

"It's sort of… I don't remember when it started, it's just been going round and round and round and round without a beginning, like-"

"A circle. Yeah, I get it."

The proverbial light had clicked on in Ichigo's mind. It all made a lot more sense now… He nodded, biting his lip to stop from smiling. Grimmjow trying to talk in metaphors was just amusing.

"Circles don't have endings, either."

He traced his fingertip along Grimmjow's jaw, but the movement was stilled as the former Espada looked at him, and he felt his heart sink. There was a flicker of uncertainty there, in those blue, expressive eyes that morphed into something much darker. Grimmjow let him go, taking a step back, as if he had suddenly come to his senses from a temporary insanity. They watched each other carefully, as if waiting for the other to strike, before Grimmjow shook his head violently, clearing his head of the raging doubts and anger that plagued them. Ichigo lifted his hand, just a little bit, in something close to an invitation, and Grimmjow reached for him, pulling him back into another of those brutal, terrifyingly brilliant kisses. Gasping, Ichigo managed to ask another question around the onslaught of Grimmjow's mouth.

"Why were you so angry at me? When you left?"

"Stop fucking talking."

"Shut up, ya bastard. Tell me."

Grimmjow pulled back, and ran a hand through his hair, spiking it on end even further. He let out a growl of irritation that wasn't quite serious.

"Do you just insist on ruining the moment?"

"The moment? What sort of shitty romantic stuff have you been reading up on?"

"Oh, go to hell."

There was an awkward moment as Ichigo tried to lean forward at the same time as Grimmjow, and their noses bumped, and they jumped back, before slowly moving forward again. Ichigo felt his breath catch in the back of his throat and swallowed down something that he flatly refused to believe was a moan. In protest he bit down on Grimmjow's lip, not hard enough to make it bleed or to really hurt, but enough to make the former-Espada grunt and grab hold of Ichigo's shoulders, pulling him close as he deepened the kiss, pressing their hips together. Too soon (as far as Ichigo was concerned), though, Grimmjow pushed Ichigo away, swiping out with his leg as he stumbled.

Ichigo fell flat on his back on the ground, his head slamming against the floor with a painful impact that was forgotten almost instantly as Grimmjow followed him down, pressing on top of him and kissing him again, hands on either side of Ichigo's head to stop himself from crushing the body underneath him. Ichigo arched into a particularly well placed stroke of Grimmjow's hand.

"You're so warm."

His voice, he was embarrassed to note, was breathy and hoarse, as if he were about to choke. He dug his hands deep into Grimmjow's hair to cover up the feeling, tugging it tight, so that it must have hurt. It didn't seem to stop the former Espada smirking, though.

"You're a sentimental bastard, aren't you, Kurosaki?"

He growled against Grimmjow's neck, pressing into the warmth of it.

"Go to hell."

As if to emphasise his point, he trailed his hands over Grimmjow's torso, pressing his palms flat against the exposed skin until he reached the black expanse of his hollow hole. He reached into it, wrapping his fingers around the edges and tugging slightly, swallowing the gasps that Grimmjow made in their increasingly frantic kisses. He didn't know if it was pain or pleasure that made that noise, but he suspected that with Grimmjow it might have been a little bit of both. He tugged again, and Grimmjow ground their hips together in retribution, extracting another moan.

The dark hole made his fingers feel numb, as if he were reaching into another world, a place not quite real. It made a shiver run down his spine, and he rolled his hips upwards.

He bit Grimmjow's tongue, and once more, though it was not particularly hard the other reared back, his own tongue flicking out to touch the scar on his lip, scowling a little at an obviously unwelcome memory.

"Stop doing that, ass."

"Sorry."

"I'll fucking_ make_ you sorry."

Ichigo reached up, trying to kiss him one more, but Grimmjow pulled back, cutting off his glib retort (something along the lines of, 'is that a promise'). Instead, Grimmjow shook his head, grinding their hips together with even more force.

"You want me to kiss you?"

A scowl was his only response, and he grinned: it was enough of an answer as far as he was concerned.

"Do it, you bastard, or get the fuck off me."

"Fucking beg for it, Kurosaki."

With a snort of derision Ichigo pulled even harder at the hollow hole, and as Grimmjow's eyes widened and his breath came a little faster he pressed up, rolling them right over so that his legs were on either side of Grimmjow's body, pinning him against the ground, immediately moving back to kiss the other quite thoroughly in his own form of punishment. Not that Grimmjow wasn't enjoying it, or anything.

He managed to remain there for only a moment, before Grimmjow's temprament and impatience got the better of them both and he rolled them all the way back over again. He pulled Ichigo up, sat across his legs, and started to pull at the fabric of his uniform. Some things he managed to get off, others he ripped in annoyance when he couldn't manage in time, pressing his mouth to whatever new part of Ichigo's skin was bared each time. He touched scars, running nails and his tongue along some of them, biting some others, liking the taste of Ichigo's skin in his mouth, like some succulent and indulgent treat. He kissed Ichigo again, pressing him back to the ground as soon as his chest was bare.

He licked a long line down a scar that curved around Ichigo's pectoral, assaulting his nipple as he passed. Ichigo was panting, eyes wide and his face a mask of excitement and confused lust, and Grimmjow stared down at him before ducking his head to lick the small line of blood that had appeared on his cheek. It caused him no end of pride to see that blood, to see the evidence of his own work. Ichigo reached up to take his face, pulling him back down, and kissed away the traces of blood on the white of the mask, his own blood that looked as if it might stain. The bone was strangely warm and not at all smooth- it was grooved with incredibly fine lines, like real bone is, although you would not have known to see it.

Grimmjow felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end as the strange, distanced sensation.

"The hell do you want from me, Kurosaki?"

The anger of his voice- what little still remained- lost its impact as Grimmjow's voice was almost gasping, almost choking. Ichigo's hands had found their way down Grimmjow's body, and were now stroking his hardened member through his uniform. His eyes were glassy, slightly unfocused.

"I want you to stop calling me Kurosaki."

Grimmjow ground against his hand, vaguely aware of their rietsu, which seemed to have engulfed each others, creating some impossible mix of both that crackled around them like the air before an oncoming storm. They didn't mix, shouldn't have mixed, and it shouldn't have worked… but yet, somehow, it did.

"Is that it?"

Ichigo's other hand had moved to his hips, and he dug his nails into the skin. He screwed his eyes closed, forcing himself to say the next part. Names were all well and good. Locations were more complicated.

"And I want you to come back with me."

Grimmjow blinked, staring down at him. Ichigo was faintly satisfied to realise that the former-Espada had something close to a blush adorning his cheeks, too.

"To the human world?"

"Yeah."

Grimmjow sighed, resting on his elbows and hanging his head, so that the messed up blue spikes of it tickled Ichigo's nose.

"S'fucking complicated."

"Who cares?"

He looked up, and Ichigo was glaring at him.

"Who the hell cares that it's gonna be complicated? I mean, what the hell else are we gonna do?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping that we wouldn't start killing each other. That'd be a buzz kill."

"I mean, what are we going to do_ next_?"

Grimmjow groaned, and collapsed down on top of Ichigo, digging his nose into the other's cheek and muttering against it with a smirk.

"I'd like to make-out again. And if you could just touch down there agai-"

"Shut up, you ass. So, are you… are you going to stay here?"

"What, here? Hell no."

"So… you're coming back to Karakura?"

"Nah, Kurosaki, I'm going back to the Soul Society. Got me a pretty fine place to live, three doors down from that Captain-Commander of yours. Don't you think it's a good idea?"

Ichigo grabbed him by the hair, pulling him up so that he could look at him, eyebrow raised and glare decidedly pointed.

"Grimmjow."

He pressed his fist against Ichigo's cheek, leaving it there for just a little too long for it to be casual.

"Yeah, yeah. Quit your bitching. I'm coming home."

"Home? I thought Las Noches was home."

Grimmjow shrugged.

"I guess that's changed, hasn't it? You need to stop fucking in my life, y'know? You keep making things different."

"Well, I-"

"I told you to stop fucking talking, didn't I?"

He looked down at Ichigo, and even though he was glaring there was something decidedly arousing in it.

"_And_ you're wearing far too many clothes."

Ichigo smirked back at him, hands wandering already.

"So, how about we fix that, huh?"


	18. Chapter Seventeen

LyricalSin- I'm glad you agree that it is annoying when stories progress too slowly. Hopefully, though, I wont start to drag this one out!  
jadacy- I always get concerned adding the voice of a character that isn't an OC, but isn't exactly a canon character, like Pantera. Thank god I did it well enough for you to like! I'm always fecking scared I won't do her justice.  
Kriskascini- I promise, my murdering is not intentional. ahahaha, another gay man in a woman's body? Maybe we should form a club…  
NoColourPlz- It's the whole back and forth denial thing, y'know? And finally, Ichigo is coming out with some sort of meaningful statement, and then too embarrassed to say it again, and Grimmjow is pushing him, as ever… and it is just sort of general annoying-banter-flirting, really. Hope that helps?  
Cynoyonrae- 'mini heart attacks of glee' sound painful. And I would like to formally make reference to the fact that I take no responsibility for any damage to your health that my story may cause. I am so glad that you like my warped analogy for his inner-mind, I wasn't sure how people would take it as it isn't anything that I have read around before… but thank you thank you thank you. Your review made me so happy!  
As ever, dishrag-chan, even though I've not had a chance to read your latest chapter, thank you for it being there to keep me smiling at the thought of getting on it!

Man, I am so sorry for the delay. What with moving and all, I've barely had a chance to breathe. But here I am, and the next chapter is almost done, and should be up by Friday, a super-speedy update just to say sorry for the wait. Also, I think Bleach is ruining me- every time I write the word 'stark' I now want to add two 'r's to it. And, finally, thank you to everyone who wished me luck on my move. It went brilliantly, and I am adoring it.

Chapter Seventeen

There was a coil of heat in his body. There was an ache his chest, and he had no name for it. There was a body underneath him, and he didn't think anything else mattered in the world but the sounds that Ichigo was making, but then he realised that the high pitched breathing that he had thought was Ichigo's was not: it was his own. That heavy drum beat was nothing but the ache of his own pulse, suddenly feeling too heavy for his veins, pushing against his skin as if it were trying to escape. There was too much of him, his body was too weighted. There was an indescribable moment when he thought that he might collapse, but then Ichigo arched into his body, and Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from being anything but amused at Ichigo's so out-of-character expression, panting and pink-tinged and looking for all the world like a particularly well-ravished maiden fresh from some particularly insipid piece of fiction.

Ichigo's eyes were half-lidded, his skin too hot to the touch. There was something about the way that he looked that seemed faintly inebriated, as if he had been covered in something illegal, doused in an intoxicating and breath-taking and enviable way. Grimmjow couldn't help but approve, though he wouldn't tell Ichigo that, because he didn't really want another bite, or a slap in the face, or (worse) for Ichigo's hand to move from that rather pleasant place.

Ichigo glared up at him, but it had lost its potency a while back. Around the same time that hands had started moving, sliding underneath lines of fabric to trace sweat-slicked skin, to feel places that quite definitely needed a PG rating. Regardless of his quite enthusiastic participation in such activities, Ichigo was still looking annoyed, even if Grimmjow didn't really believe it anymore.

"The hell is that look for?"

His voice did sound right though: sharp and a touch annoyed, although the last syllable trailed off, breathy, just a little too warm to be really annoyed.

Grimmjow felt teeth graze against his neck, his lobe, the thick line of a tendon standing out against the skin of his throat, pressing against his jugular, never stopping to do anything but cause the slightest of indents but enough, enough to make his chest tighten and his body press against the roll of Ichigo's hips, moving in perfect tandem.

Ichigo was staring up at him, waiting for his response, but Grimmjow gave no answer, because Ichigo's hand had quickened around him, and his breath was caught up in itself, his lungs tightening as if he were drowning in something thick, heavy, numbing. He could feel a growl in the back of his throat, bubbling up out of his control. He didn't bother to try and swallow it back down, unlike Ichigo, who was trying to cover up the small moans and whines and his excessively heavy breathing as a matter of course, his intense pride refusing the thought of him uttering anything that might indicate his subservience to the other any more than he already was doing so, lying underneath him and whimpering.

Grimmjow was pretty sure that, if he tried long enough, he would be able to make Ichigo yell aloud- and by hell or high water, he was going to make damn sure that Ichigo screamed his name.

The former-Espada bit the inside of his own cheek with a sudden abruptness that made his body lurch at the hardly-premeditated pain. He let his vision slide into a blur of painful pleasure as the fingers of Ichigo's hand that was not currently busy somewhere else thrust into his hollow hole, not just tentatively pulling at the edges this time but surrendering it to the darkness up to the wrist, fingers flexing in the strange, unreal-feeling space. A little later, when he thought about it, he would be rather freaked out by the realisation that he didn't remember seeing his hand come out the other side, even though it should have done, technically: Grimmjow had a broad frame, that was true, but Ichigo was sure that his torso was not that thick. He flexed his hand once more, enjoying the sensation. It was as if he were trying to push through water, some sort of barely-explainable pressure making his movements just a little hard. It almost felt like he could grab a hold onto something, as if there were some tangible, real object hidden deep down there in the black.

Some metaphysical link, perhaps? Something to link a person to the other world, to the other plane of existence? Or perhaps something more, something substantial yet indefinable. For a moment he was reminded of Ulquiorra, of that pitiable bewilderment flickering through near-expressionless eyes at the thought of a heart, and where it might be, and what it might consist of. All the time, had it been that simple, only the Cuatro's own two-dimensional view hiding it from him?

But all such thoughts were cast from his head entirely as Grimmjow rolled them both over with an urgency that made a part of his chest ache with combined amusement and pleasure, until Ichigo was on top of him, half-bowed over in his refusal to break the press of his mouth against the lips of the man now underneath him. He screwed his eyes up as his hands fisted into Grimmjow's hair again, digging his fingers in deep enough into Grimmjow's scalp that it must have hurt, a little.

Grimmjow was too distracted by Ichigo's clothes to care: he pulled at the offending fabric, almost ripping it at times in his impatience. He pulled his mouth away from Ichigo's and pushed him upwards, following the momentum to bite at the skin just to the left of Ichigo's belly button, letting his tongue flick into the taut indent for a moment, taking note at Ichigo's shiver.

Ichigo was making gasping, breathy noises, hands still wound too-tight in Grimmjow's hair, pulling even harder now as his lungs seemed to constrict, throwing his breathing into disarray. Although it was beginning to hurt a little more than was comfortable, he had to admit that he barely noticed: Grimmjow's mind was occupied with flesh and sensation, with touching and tasting and the mind-numbing drive of sex, on the body rolling it's hips against his own and that mouth, that mouth…

That mouth that was talking, he realised though he could barely work out what it was coming out with, mumbled as it was. Saying something that might have been important, that probably was important, but for now needed to be ignored.

"Shut up, would ya?"

Ichigo pulled particularly harshly on his hair for that, and grunted something in the back of his throat, giving up on what he was trying to say to Grimmjow as the former-Espada pulled at the hakama, the only thing left on Ichigo, in irritation. A battled ensued as Grimmjow attempted to remove them, continuously failing, until Ichigo lifted himself up a little to allow them to slide off his legs. The pale, toned skin of his thighs caught Grimmjow's attention immediately, and his gaze slid up along them with an ease and slowness that was almost indecent in its pseudo-lethargic drag.

Ichigo shifted back a little as new skin was exposed, and tensed up until Grimmjow's attention drifted from heated examination of what was now on show to catch his eye. They stared at each other a moment before, with an exasperated noise in the back of his throat, the former-Espada grabbed him by the hips and rolled them back over, until Ichigo's back hit the sand and he could slide his way down his torso, making him better able to press reddening bites to that new temptation, those long lines of tensed muscle in Ichigo's legs.

He stripped himself with an awkward haste, baring himself to the cool air without ceremony, eyes never leaving Ichigo's body, flicking from one part of him to the next, almost dancing in their excitement. Grimmjow's own body tensed as he rested on all fours over Ichigo's gasping body, leaning down to taste the softer, silken skin at the very top of his thighs, where the taste of sweat and skin and indeterminate warmth made a potent mix that sent his head reeling, that made his movements all the more hurried, awkward, inelegant.

He moved without thinking: his own breathing had not been unaffected and was obviously irregular, catching on sputtering lust. Grimmjow dug his fingers into the sand on either side of Ichigo's body with a strength he had barely understood that he was capable of as he took the length of him in his mouth, moving with Ichigo's body as it arched upwards into Grimmjow at the sensation of damp, close heat, of such undeniable and inexplicable pleasure and warmth.

Ichigo had lost sense of where he was, and as he felt the graze of uncharacteristically careful teeth he shuddered, hands reaching to dig nails into Grimmjow's own, tightly fisted ones, pressed against the built up sand of the stark, ruinous place.

Shadows were building, or it seemed like they might have been: Ichigo threw his head back so that he saw the world upside-down, a mass of shifting darkness and blinding white. Rock merged into walls into sand into sky: things didn't look right, didn't look as if they should fit. It was a little like mind-trick pictures, where nothing was how it seemed and if you stared long enough you saw faces where before you only saw shapes- Ichigo had the flickering memory of those as pleasure lashed through him, and sense continued to smoulder into nothing.

Grimmjow moved up and down Ichigo's length, but before he was brought to any sort of satisfactory completion Grimmjow left him, pulling away with a slick of saliva and the cool air against him, achingly hard and ready. Grimmjow moving back up to thrust his tongue into Ichigo's mouth, pressing their bodies so hard together it felt as if the heat of them might fuse their skins and mould them together indeterminately.

Ichigo felt almost as if he were about to cry at the raw emotion and sensation wracking his body, but to his relief he did not, his resistance still strong enough: he didn't think that he could have lived that one down.

Instead, he moved his hips upwards slightly, balancing as Grimmjow moved between his legs. There was no question of dominance, though Grimmjow would jokingly call it such later on: it just felt right that it would be this way. There was no part of him that felt as if he were somehow being cast into a weaker role, for he knew that Grimmjow was as much in his power as he was in Grimmjow's: control was not out of balance. And so, when Grimmjow held three fingers out to him he Ichigo took them in his mouth without question and without concern, only aching need: when they were removed they were damp, impeccably ready.

It hurt as they pressed in but he was used to pain, too used to it for it to even register as much as it would do on another: it was a sensitive place, though, and even he winced and bit the inside of his mouth so hard that he thought he could taste the copper-tinge of blood, though he thought that might just be his blood going mad at the impossibility and perfectly tampered change to everything. The pain seemed like nothing more than passing clouds in a clear and faultless sky, there and ever-present and marring the perfection, but excusable, ignorable. Besides, he soon became too distracted to care: his uncomfortable shifting as his body adjusted itself to the sensation vanished as Grimmjow's fingers hit something inside of him, something that he hadn't even realised could feel that good.

Pleasure was deep and dark and red inside him, coiling through his body and burning through his eyes. He thought of blood, of heat and the sort of excruciating joy that he hadn't realised even existed.

Grimmjow did not give him long; too impatient, at the sight of Ichigo's own obvious excitement and ecstasy, he soon pulled his coaxing fingers away and replaced them without warning or regard with the length of himself, sliding in and ignoring the winces and gasps of pain coming from Ichigo, too busy caring about sheathing himself as far as he could go, as deep as he could, burying himself in a tight, clenching heat that made him want to scream aloud.

Ichigo's hands were everywhere- in his hair, on his mask, thrusting through the dark expanse of his hollow hole once more.

"Shit, Grimm-"

He was cut off by his own groan, as Grimmjow moved a little deeper into him. Finding himself so suddenly filled, with such speed, he shuddered underneath Grimmjow's body, that was almost shaking with repressed tension above him. His movements had no logic any more, touching wherever they could manage to reach, caressing anything that came to hand. He lifted his head to press sloppy and rough kisses to bared skin, but each movement and each thrust little deeper had him throwing his head back into the sand, making choked down noises of exquisite delight.

Then Grimmjow was there, pressed against Ichigo so hard that it would have hurt, had he been registering anything but the walls of Ichigo's body at that point. He fell forward as he tried to catch his breath, Ichigo's lower back and legs uncomfortably lifted so that Grimmjow could have access.

He pressed his mouth to Ichigo's jaw, a quick fleeting motion before he moved backwards, eyes wide. Grimmjow did not give the other time to adjust, time to find a comfortable position: questions of courtesy were not Grimmjow's forte, and the unreal sensation of Ichigo's body was too much for him to resist. He ran rough sand-bitten hands down the line of Ichigo's torso until he cupped his hips securely: raising himself a little more, he slid almost all of the way out of Ichigo before thrusting back in one deep, long movement that had them both making incomparable noise aloud.

Ichigo found that his body mirrored Grimmjow in the movement of their own accord, so that the rhythm of their coupled bodies seemed to match on impeccable instinct, raising and falling as the clenching heat and the invading force worked together, in perfect unison. It hurt still, a little, but it felt strangely good, too. Even as Ichigo's body began to register the pain it was blacked out by the opposite, coloured out of existence.

Grimmjow screamed like an animal wounded, eyes clenched together and teeth biting his mouth; Ichigo dug his nails into Grimmjow's back until he drew blood, leaving long rivers of raised pink skin behind him. Sweat slicked them both. Noise echoed around the deserted palace.

Their cries echoed off the ruined walls of the once-beautiful throne room as two bodies shuddered, collapsing together over and over again as they moved together, eyes sometimes wide and unseeing and other times closed or between the two: no sign of lucid thought was left but for fleeting glimpses of reason, as something inside of them was fought down. The patterned movement that they had adhered to was broken in its simplistic manner as Grimmjow grabbed hold of Ichigo's neglected member, pulling it with little finesse (but infinite pleasure), making him yell aloud at the doubled-sensation. He rolled his hips with more urgency as Grimmjow's pace quickened even further and lost its worked rhythm: everything was moving with a maddening haste now, pressing, heated.

The very air around them felt hot: the never-changing temperature of the damned place seemed to have been altered by them. Grimmjow could swear that the very ground underneath him was moving, back and forth, with them. Hueco Mundo seemed to sigh in relief as Ichigo's came, with an arch of his body and a broken cry: as if the very place itself was with them, understanding them only for these briefest moments before reality and the chasm of worlds appeared again. The heavy atmosphere that had felt that it was trying to push Ichigo back since he had arrived dissipated, and he felt freed from some hatred that he had been barely aware of.

It could hardly last: as Grimmjow came crashing down on top of him with a roar of pleasure and a final, ending thrust Ichigo could almost feel the walls of Las Noches shaking, a silent and indeterminate challenge against them. He stared upwards as he clenched his hands back in Grimmjow's hair, pressing their bodies as close as they could be, and mourned that they could not lie closer together than their skin allowed.

He realised after a moment that Grimmjow was saying his name, over and over again, each word blurring into another as he pressed his nose into the soft, warm crook of Ichigo's neck.

The hole through which the sky stared was vast, imposing, looked almost like an eye, to Ichigo: black and endless and neither glaring nor looking benevolently, not yet at any road. If it had have been an eye, though, they might have been reflected into it, appearing in the very centre of an improbable and monstrous pupil as a inverted truth: two people linked together by an undeniable and unspoken bond of flesh and words and something so much more than that, framed by white slabs of broken masonry and abandoned white and black clothes: the tone of skin against the colourless world, the lambs up for slaughter on a monochromatic monolith. A beautiful tableau, if any but that great, indifferent sky had been watching them.

Ichigo looked up at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath, thoughts a tangled mess of knots that he was sure that he hadn't tied himself.

Grimmjow was a weight of heat on top of him, his face still firmly and unquestionably hidden in Ichigo's neck. Ichigo could feel little movement from him but for the slow change of his relaxed body as it tensed once more, each muscle a firm barrier against any comfortable sort of atmosphere. It took him a moment to lift himself off Ichigo after that, sliding out of him and following the momentum of his body he fell back against the sand with an audible groan, already reaching for his clothes and pulling them on with a clearly uncomfortable haste. He couldn't help but feel too vulnerable the way he was, naked and still post-coital irrational, even if it was only the two of them and he really should have been okay with it, given their actions.

Pantera was purring in the back of his mind, almost pleased with herself at the turn of events that she had been lecturing Grimmjow about for too long, in her opinion. She told Grimmjow this, in her prissy self-righteous voice that she used when she knew that she was right. It never failed to piss him off, and suddenly he found himself a little annoyed, biting back at her comments in his mind with a sharp tongue and a bitter sentiment.

Ichigo was also dressing himself once more, sliding on and straightening his shinigami robes, though he was moving slightly slower and matching many of his movements with pained winces as the full brunt of their actions caught up with him. For the first time he wondered quite why, when he separated his soul from his body, he appeared wearing the uniform clothes of a shinigami: though he was a substitute, to be sure, and to be honest he would have felt more comfortable fighting in his slogan t-shirts and his converse. At least then he would be wearing the metaphorical flag of his own allegiance: i.e., completely neutral, until his own world was threatened.

From the beginning, he had been put into the shinigami affiliation. He didn't remember anyone ever asking him about it: in fact, he didn't remember a time when he ever did anything for the Soul Society. He only invaded Las Noches because they had taken Inoue, and he had only fought the Espada because they were in the way and Aizen, frankly, because he was trying to destroy Karakura.

Home. He hadn't thought of home properly.

The last traces of the warmth from sex faded as he realised that they still had not resolved the issue, and he thought of his home dismally, wondering how soon it would be before he saw it again. Would Grimmjow come back this quickly? Would he honestly come back at all?

There was a great old grandfather clock in the back room of his house in Karakura, and Ichigo could swear that he could hear its heavy tick, a rhythmic and always just a little off-beat sound that had thrummed through his consciousness so many times in his childhood. It was always so deep that it felt like the noise was vibrating through his your spine, running through your body, trying to make you move to their own particular metronomic beat.

He could hear it, he was sure, but that was impossible: they had lost the key that you needed to wind it up with years ago, and it hadn't been heard since it had wound down- and besides, what would such a clock be doing here, all the way out here in Hueco-fucking-Mundo?

It took him a moment to realise that the sound was coming from his own body: that it was, in fact, his heartbeat.

Neither of them said a word, even now.

They stood, a little apart, half-turned to each other but clearly not quite in comfortable tandem anymore.

Eventually Grimmjow turned to look at him, and his face was almost unrecognisable, masked with a frown. Not the normal sort of frown, either: not his pissed off expression when he couldn't get his own way or when things were pissing him off- this one was wrecked with unspoken thought, and Ichigo knew that his own expression was pulled in with a similar tautness, with a similar sentiment.

Grimmjow turned his head to one side, and bit his lip, suddenly going from looking too old to looking too young: Ichigo reached out to him, but instead of coming back into the embrace as Ichigo wanted him to, Grimmjow grabbed hold of the proffered arm and pulled the other up against him, digging desperate hands into Ichigo as if he had claws, as if he had claws he wished to sink into his flesh and never release: as if he wanted to crush Ichigo to him until they sunk through each other's skin, into one being.

Ichigo sighed against the bare skin of Grimmjow's shoulder.

"Are we okay now?"

"Isn't it a bit late to be asking that now, Kur- Ichigo?"

Ichigo shrugged, his face still crushed against Grimmjow's collarbone. He didn't comment on the slip with the name- old habits died hard, he knew that as well as anyone. After all, hadn't he continued to buy his mother flowers on her birthday, even after he grew older and came to realise that, judging by what he saw of the Soul Society, it was very unlikely that she was even looking down on him from up there? He was hardly cause to judge.

He would have stayed there forever but the other pushed him away again almost as suddenly as he had grabbed for him, causing him to rock on his heels in the sand. He caught sight of Zangetsu, still leaning and waiting, and took him by the hilt, securing him on his back where he belonged. Grimmjow had grabbed his jacket but not pulled it on, and had taken up Pantera again as well.

His eyes were closed, his face once more a calm mask, a strange look that Ichigo still had not quite gotten used to seeing on Grimmjow's face.

He stood and extended his arm, spreading his palm wide against the air, and Ichigo looked at him incredulously.

"What are you doing?"

He opened just one eye to glace at Ichigo, as if he was being ridiculous. Perhaps he was, but he couldn't quite work out what on earth the former-Espada was actually doing.

"Openin' us a way through, idiot."

"What?"

Grimmjow grinned, and it sent a shudder down Ichigo's spine, made him want to take hold and just damn well never let him go. It was the terrifyingly wide grin that he remembered haunting him for so long, that Ichigo had not been able to get out of his dreams.

"We're going back, you ass."

"You what?"

Grimmjow slapped the back of his head, though not hard enough to properly hurt. The moment of difference distilled by passion was quite passed, for now, but though Ichigo was unsmiling and Grimmjow's mouth had its normal sneer to it there was a warmth around both of their eyes, something that bespoke of more than just a post-coital glow. It was impossible to describe, but there was a happiness about them that spoke reams about everything. Though they were both fully aware that it would not last, there was still a contentment of a good enough sorts, a new sort of strength, as if the last part of a great and unsolved puzzle had just clicked, finally, into place.

Ichigo reached out a hand, and Grimmjow took him by the wrist as the air Las Noches was pulled apart. His grip might have been a touch too tight, but Ichigo did not comment on it, only moved a little closer.

"We're going back. Learn to listen, idiot."

Ichigo just stared at him, and for just a moment there was a trace of uncertainty in those eyes: almost as if Grimmjow was waiting for him to say no, to call the whole thing off, to cancel this bizarre scenario before it had the chance to get any deeper. Ichigo said nothing in stilted response, just nodded and smiled, a little, as he continued to stare at Grimmjow. He could not speak- he could barely breathe.

He was too busy, entranced by Grimmjow's eyes.

He saw for the first time that those eyes were not simply the singular colour he had thought: Grimmjow's irises could boast of not just one hue, but several. A vibrant azure in the main, there were rings of ceil and cerulean blues that focused into the dark depths of his pupils. Right at the centre was a bright and pale cornflower blue, and each iris was shot with lines of steely silver, like lightening threading through an impossibly perfect sky. Impossibly perfect. Yes, that sounded about right. The gateway was open before them. The heat of Grimmjow's hold was making his throat tight.

They stepped through, into the dark spaces between hostile worlds.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Apologies. This has been ready since Friday, so I consider that as keeping my promise, but the stupid internet here is so slow and jolting, and it's only just let me load up. This hasn't been properly edited, because it keeps messing up, so I apologise for any mistakes.

Also, I intend now to slip back into the format of the former chapters, with segmented sections rather than one long continuous piece. I prefer it, and I think it works better with my style of writing- hopefully, everyone will be okay with this. Right, prepare for a little less-serious stuff now, if only for this chapter. :)

**IMPORTANT**: A question. This story has more to it, as far as I am concerned, but it can also be very easily concluded now. It all depends on what the majority wants: the future of this story deals with the Gotei 13 as well as a threat left behind in Hueco Mundo. I will also probably bring in a little more of other characters. However, if you guys think that this story has run its course and should stop, then please say so: I hate stories that go on when they should have ended. Any angst has been put behind us, now, and the darker sides of the planned chapters ahead are mainly in the sense of battles and blood, rather than emotional turmoil, though of course that is not to say that there will not be frustrations and miscommunications a-plenty as well. Either way, enjoy and let me know.

**Chapter Eighteen**

The Karakura that greeted them was bathed in the golden light of a summer evening: the very air seemed rich, warm and heavy, and the dying sunlight covered everything with a sheen of something almost comforting. It was the ideal sort of look to return home to, the sort of light that made everything look a little bit better, matching the idealized memory gained in absence. Ichigo looked around the place, wondering why it all felt so incomparably different to when he had left, as if he had been away years, or as if he had grown old and then returned to a place he remembered from decades previously. He felt altered somehow.

It wasn't entirely a bad feeling.

Grimmjow himself did not register this beauty, for it was not the way that he had lived to do such things. Perhaps, with time, such trivialities might come to be of importance to him, but for the moment all that mattered was who might be waiting for them, and not in the nice-welcome-home-party type of way. He did not stare at the honey-bathed town, only looked around to see for any potential threats, and then when disregarding such hypothetical dangers he stared away at the skyline, wondering where they would go from here: the future seemed to hold nothing but more unanswerable questions, more deliberations, more complications.

He could not stay a secret for forever, not whilst he remained around Ichigo at any rate. He wasn't in denial about that: he just wasn't the type of person who could stay out of trouble for any length of time, and Soul Society, he was sure, already had their suspicions about the impromptu flairs of spiritual pressure that the 'unknown' Vasto Lorde had given out back when he was here?

What would the bastard shinigami have dealt out to him when he was caught? The thought was not something that he wanted to dwell on, but it flashed through his mind out of his control. He had heard rumours of great tower-prisons from Ichimaru, once: would he be imprisoned for them? That kid that Ichigo was friends with, they tried to strip her of her powers, and the thought of losing his strength was undoubtedly worse than the thought of dying. At least death had pride, of its own sort.

But all of that would have to wait, for tonight there was only one question that needed such immediate attention, and he knew it and so spoke it with little hesitation. Ichigo's hand had slipped from his as they crossed the boundaries of the world, and there was a part of him that he didn't quite understand yet that really, really wanted to take it back.

"Your place or mine?"

Ichigo touched Grimmjow's side with a closed fist- from a distance it might have looked like a weak punch, but in reality it was the awkward touch of someone who still hadn't quite learnt how to convey what he was really feeling. He found it didn't make a difference: Grimmjow returned the action with a little more severity and lack of control, teeth bared in an expression that spoke nothing of annoyance and everything of a closed off, too-blurred affection.

The world shimmered around them, unreal and unfocused. For now, things might be able to last a little longer, in this fairy-tale world of not-quite worries or concerns.

Ichigo wondered for a moment whether they should be more concerned for the future, but then he felt Grimmjow's fingers hook through his own, and they both forgot that this was too complicated for words, too dangerous to carry on, because really, that made no difference to them either way, any more.

The future could wait. Tomorrow was another-fucking-day.

And if tomorrow brought problems, let them sort it out tomorrow.

Skin found skin for just a moment, heat on heat as Grimmjow's shoulder pressed against Ichigo who half-laughed his reply to the former-Espada's faintly lecherous sounding question: though it still was not quite the carefree tone of a teenager who had never had to see war and ruination, there was something lighter about it, something less pained.

He rested his head, for a moment, on Grimmjow's shoulder.

"Does it matter?"

A soft snarl, almost gentle and half-blown away by that warm summer-evening air, laced with cut-grass and dry-earth smells, made the fine and pale hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stand on end. He touched the line of Grimmjow's mask tentatively, fingernails scraping along the strange, white cartilage-esque thing, dragging along, making him shudder at the sensation.

Ichigo smiled against skin that he could call his own, even though it graced another body. That thought was enough to make him happy, just in itself.

His town was splayed out below them like a great sprawling animal, breathing with the movement of people that all of a sudden seemed, even from this distance, claustrophobic. Karakura looked beautiful to him, but from a distance. As much as he had longed to return here, now that he could see the mass of it spread out before him, he felt no inclination to join in the melee and begin the complication that would be him and Grimmjow in this world.

The former-Espada was watching Ichigo carefully, waiting to see what his response would be. Ichigo was staring out into the distance, clearly distracted.

Ichigo rarely thought about the landscape of the part of Japan that Karakura was in, but from this height he could see all the way to the mountains, an eggplant haze in the not-too-far distance from where they stood. The sun would soon set on them, through them: the far side, he thought, might look ablaze with the fires of orange and red and yellow hues of the dying light.

Ichigo knew that it would be beautiful, and it would be far more alive than the monochrome ruined palace that they had come from, so quiet and lifeless and still so sad, or the lonely and derelict warehouse or awkward teenage bedroom that lay before them.

Neither of those were fitting, not for now, not for this feeling.

He nudged Grimmjow, and pointed at one of those peaks. He did not have to say anything for Grimmjow to understand: the former Espada, now allied to no-one but the confusion of human-hollow-shinigami at his side, saw immediately the appeal. The great silence of raw and natural stone, suffused with the energy of the living earth and the blazing colours of a sky that remained ever alive and ever changing was too different from the place that they had come from for it not to be just what they would have wanted, right then.

Grimmjow could almost see them now, too high up for people to see, touching each other with all the discomfited and often graceless hands of new lovers, who had only all of the brief moment of here-and-now before the thorny issue of how they would live, how they would conceal themselves and their relationship, would become a pressing and demanding concern. Such a short time, before the real world kicked in, to bask in the setting sun and feel on fire with the weight of what they should have told each and still could not quite get out…

That sounded about right, for now.

As they made their way from the suburbs to the strangled and tangled wild of the rural landscape, Grimmjow reflected that soon enough they were going to have to sort some things out, because he didn't understand the longevity of this, if it could last at all, if this would work in reality knowing their non-too-complimentary temperaments. He knew that he still hadn't really told Ichigo everything, about all that he had found in Hueco Mundo and all that he still wanted to find and, most importantly, the full extent of that vast range of feelings that had made him come back, that had made his throat constrict as soon as he had realised that Ichigo was there, come to find him or kill him.

But for now, he was content with silence, and waiting, because this memory right here was one of undeniable perfection: the sort of memory that never leaves you, that always fills you on recollection with so much emotion that you feel as if you were there, right back there: that those same luxurious touches (much slower this time, they taking much more time and patience and with a much less discordant rhythm as they started on the slow lessons on the ins-and-outs of each others' bodies) were on your skin again, that same taste (and why did Ichigo have to taste so good?) was in your mouth again and everything was just, once more, for this brief time, _perfectlyfuckingright._

Ichigo turned back to him, to find that Grimmjow was almost smiling, but also frowning a little- the sort of expression his mother always had when she was thinking too hard, worrying too much.

He pressed his forehead against Grimmjow's cheek, and sighed.

Regardless of what the future, with all her inescapable and unpredictable courses, would bring, right now, for a time, everything was alright.

Of course, alright sounds just fine when you're half way up a mountain and nothing matters but getting your clothes off as quickly as possible. Alright seems like a good plan until you remember that there was a whole future out there that they had to begin to navigate, a daunting and unpleasant task indeed. As soon as you get back down to the real world, as Ichigo was finding out, things end up being much more complicated than you initially thought.

Isn't it always the way?

Luckily, Kon had been found when Urahara had appeared on the Kurosaki household's doorway with the empty shell of Ichigo's body slung over his shoulder like a sack-of-freaking-potatoes. Well, lucky was what his idiot father and that bastard insisted on calling it: quite why they thought that Ichigo would be pleased that they gave use of his body over to that idiot, he'd never understood. All he knew was that he had to do a hell of a lot of damage control, as soon as he stepped back into his classroom again that Monday morning, but the stories of Kon's shenanigans were delivered to him by a flustered Inoue and Ishida, who remained coolly amused by Ichigo's discomfort.

Let's just say that the girl's changing room showers would never be quite the same again.

Thankfully, it seemed that such actions were forgotten about in the wake of Keigo's rather loud declarations of love to a certain history teachers-assistant in the middle of the hallway during a particularly busy lunch hour, so he didn't have to endure to many female glares and scolding lectures from senior students out to reform him, the likes of which seemed reserved for Keigo.

That wasn't the end of his problems, though.

Grimmjow was still out there in underbelly of Karakura, flitting from place to place during the day in complete boredom. There was nothing for him to do: before he had left for his brief return to Las Noches he had spent the days in deep, almost meditative thought and training with his zanpakuto in his mind, but he was discomfited by the thought of not being in reality, and he needed something new to distract him, to concentrate on.

Ichigo could think of a few good things that would fit the bill, but unfortunately none of them were quite suitable for school…

Daydreaming took up the most part of his lessons. He knew he should be focusing, that he had missed enough already and that there was a growing pile of work that he had to make up on at home, but there were still things that kept catching his attention, things that threw themselves upon his mind with incorrect urgency that he found he could not ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

Like, for example, the question of Grimmjow's belly button.

It may not seem a pressing issue, may not even appear to be something that _ever_ needed deliberation, but the thought would not leave him.

The portion of his stomach that would normally be indented with a belly button was covered instead by his hollow hole, so the thought was perhaps redundant, but Ichigo couldn't help but wonder if the hollow hole was elsewhere, like in his eye like that Jiruga freak (although Ichigo does shiver at the thought) or between his collar bones or something, whether or not Grimmjow would have one.

Because though his initial reaction was, 'of course he would, everyone has one', the more he thinks about it, the more his upbringing as a doctor's son kicks in: he knows why humans have them, where they come from, and since Grimmjow was not created in quite that same way he has to wonder whether or not he would have had one.

He asked Grimmjow about it, and the former-Espada hit him around the head in a friendly-if-bemused manner, asking him what the fuck he was talking about.

Ichigo supposed that it was sort of a stupid thing to think about.

That didn't stop him from hitting Grimmjow back of course, twice as hard.

"Hey, Grimmjow?"

The former-Espada sighed, but refrained from saying anything insulting or hitting the bastard over the head. He was feeling too lethargic, anyway. Instead, he just hit his chin against the top of Ichigo's head.

"What?"

There was a slight pause as Ichigo obviously deliberated whether or not to ask him whatever this pressing concern was.

"D'you have a birthday?"

"The hell sort of question is that?"

"A fucking reasonable one, asshole."

Ichigo sounded annoyed himself now, and he shoved Grimmjow's tired, naked body away from him so that he could glare eye-to-eye in that prissy way that no one else ever saw, too used his normal glower.

"Che. Why d'you wanna know?"

"Pot calling the kettle black? Because that question wasn't stupid, or anything?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

"Human phrases make no sense, you know that?"

"Whatever. But seriously, you didn't answer."

"About the birthday? How should I know?"

"What? You mean, you don't know?"

Grimmjow groaned in his head, clearly growing annoyed with this line of conversation, the one that he didn't want to begin with anyway.

"No. The hell is a birthday, anyway?"

"The day you were born, ass. It's pretty obvious."

"Like hell I remember that far ago!"

"Well, it could be the day you were made an arrancar. When was that?"

Really, he didn't understand why this was such a big concern for Ichigo. It wasn't like he'd ever had one of these days before, so it wasn't as if he missed anything: you don't wish for something that you don't know about, right?

"I don't know, we don't exactly keep calendars in Hueco Mundo, y'know."

"So you really don't know?"

"Obviously."

Hoping that was going to be the end of this line of conversation, he grabbed for Ichigo and pulled him back, so that he was pressed up against the line of Grimmjow's body, a veritable radiator against his bare skin. The bed was too small for them to have space between each other- or, that was what Grimmjow told himself, when he lay there as Ichigo slept through the night, just resting in the warmth and the feeling of Ichigo's reiatsu seeping through his own.

Ichigo was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again it was much more muted, a little softer in tone.

"I think we should make one, then."

Grimmjow tried not to yell aloud in frustration, knowing that it would only end in him getting kicked out of the bed.

"Why the hell would you want to do something like that?"

"Everyone should have a birthday."

"You're so fucked up."

Ichigo said nothing to that, only slid his arm up around Grimmjow's waist. The former-Espada knew that if he could see, Ichigo would be blushing: he always did whenever he gave into the urge to do something like that.

He rested his chin on the mess of Ichigo's hair, and closed his eyes.

"Ah, fine, alright. When should it be?"

"A day that is important to you. What do you remember? What about the day you came through from Hueco Mundo, as an Adjuchas?"

"Don't remember when that was."

"Or the day you turned into you again?"

Grimmjow shrugged, and Ichigo must have felt the movement because the low exasperation in his voice was pretty evident. He didn't sound too annoyed though, which was always good.

"Do you even care?"

"Not really. Let it be the day we came back here, you'll remember that."

"Seriously?"

Ichigo sounded strangely pleased by that, though he didn't quite understand why such a simple thing could make him sound like that.

"Che. Why shouldn't I be serious?"

Ichigo was silent now, but the arm around Grimmjow's waist remained in place, and he didn't move away.

Of course, there was far more to think about than questions of belly buttons and the like. There were threats of sorts all around them, the most pressing being that of discovery. Ichigo's return prompted no sort of questioning from either his father or his friends who knew of the situation, and Urahara had not put forward anything that even implied that he knew what was going on. It was a strange, discomfiting feeling, but he supposed that it was safest for them to pretend not to know.

Ishida and Chad he was not overly concerned about: it was more likely, he was sure, that they just felt too awkward bringing it up with him, as teenage boys are want to do. They must have known that Grimmjow had returned with him, but other than that, they seemed inclined to stay out of it, which suited Ichigo just fine.

Urahara… well, who knew what the hell that bastard was ever thinking, anyway? If there was a serious concern, he would have said something by now.

It was with his family that his main concern lay. Grimmjow was not exactly the ideal sort of partner to bring home and introduce to the family, and hell, he wasn't sure if they even knew that he had preferences in… that way. It had never been spoken about, never touched upon, although they also never seemed to assume that he liked women, either.

Telling them was going to be hard: what was going to be even harder was explaining to his former-shinigami father that he was currently shacked up with a not-so-former enemy of the Gotei. His father has seemed to hint at understanding something of the situation, but Ichigo wasn't sure to what extent he knew, and was not relishing the moment when he had to fill him in.

Absolute horror wracked through him.

What the hell would happen when Grimmjow met Isshin?

Ichigo had a horrific mental image of the two of them, fighting each other with Yuzu's saucepans. Or worse, the two of them deciding to tag-team Ichigo, viciously doubling up to beat him black and blue every time he walking in through the door. With Karin joining in after a bad day, as well.

My god, the carnage.

Such thoughts were not so prevalent in Grimmjow's mind: his worry lay with discovery, and it went very against his nature to be so concerned with such things. It was much more his style to go with a what-the-hell sort of thing, but for once he realised that he had to be sensible.

For the first time ever, he actually valued his life as something more than just a potential thing to lose in battle.

For the first time ever, he had something to lose.

But that meant keeping hidden, and that meant maintaining a low profile. He didn't know if Ichigo knew that there were secret shinigami patrols that had appeared in Karakura since they had come back, and he wasn't willing to make the other worry about them, either.

It was a strange thing, those patrols. Sure, they recognized the fact that there had been a strong hollow in the vicinity that Ichigo had refused to kill, and of course they would be concerned about that, but this wasn't a town without its own defences: apart from that chick that Aizen had kidnapped, there was the stuck-up-his-own-ass bows and arrows guy and the big, strong one: they were all more than capable of taking out a hollow or two themselves. That was without Ichigo, who he had to grudgingly admit might well have been the strongest thing around.

So why was this patrol necessary? And, why didn't they tell the others about it?

Of course, the only really logical explanation was that it was in place to observe them. Grimmjow wasn't sure what to do with that: they were disguising their reiatsu well enough not to be traced but they never seemed to go near enough to where they were at any given time, preferring, it seemed, to flutter around the outskirts. They avoided the Kurosaki household and that shop that the hat-freak had like they were on fire, as well, and none of them ever approached him.

He was keeping himself fully shielded at all times: the only time he could let even a little out and relieve the headache that keeping such a tight hold of his power gave him was when he was with Ichigo, whose own rather impressive amounts of reiatsu was enough to hide his.

Things were going on, and he didn't know what to do about them.

It felt like it had been so long, and yet he still didn't know how to predict the future.

Grimmjow stared out against the skyline, wondering whether the heavy, grey layer of cloud would break into rain any time soon.

"Kurosaki? What the hell is this?"

No response came from the Ichigo, even though Grimmjow knew that just because Ichigo was tangled up in the sheets didn't meant that he was asleep. In face, given the fact that they had been talking a moment before, it seemed highly unlikely that he was. Scowling at being ignored, he flicked a pen with no little annoyance at the back of Ichigo's head, but even though it connected solidly he still didn't move: he didn't flinch or roll over to berate the half-dressed former-Espada currently sat on his desk chair, or _anything_. Then Grimmjow remembered, and rolled his eyes at the still figure.

"Ichigo! S'not my fault I keep forgetting to call you that."

To Grimmjow's relief the other rolled over, dragging piles of the bedcovers over with him. The long-spanned lesson of 'which-was-the-right-name-to-call-the-prissy-bitch' was starting to wear thin, but as far as Ichigo was concerned, it still needed teaching.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at him. The 'what's this' explanations came with less frequency these days, as Grimmjow began to adjust more and more the human world, but they were often entertaining when they did appear. Grimmjow had started spending his free time in the days wandering, observing, all the while collecting a much more comprehensive understanding of this strange new place that he had been subjected to with little

"The hell are you talking about, huh?"

Grimmjow waved a notebook in his direction, and Ichigo, wondering if this was a trick question, shrugged. He was pretty sure that books in general had not been too much of an issue before, but he supposed that maybe it was some sort of wording: they still had not re-addressed the question of Grimmjow's ability to write and read, though often Ichigo did wonder what it would be like to try and teach him.

Maybe one day, when they were a little more familiarized with each other, he might ask Grimmjow if he wanted to learn. For now, though, he was well aware that they remained in the occasionally-awkward state of new lovers, and that had more pitfalls and problems than anything else he had ever experienced: he wasn't going to mess it up by suggesting anything that Grimmjow might take offence at.

"It's… a notebook, Grimmjow. I write shit in it at school."

He stuck a finger up in Grimmjow's direction as the slim book that was currently the centre of attention hit him with annoying accuracy in the middle of his forehead.

"The hell is wrong with you? I know what a notebook is, you asshole. It's what's on the back that I'm interested in."

Ichigo looked confused, but when he picked up the book from the mess of covers and turned it over the look of bewilderment was replaced with a sort of flustered and blustering embarrassment when he realised just what Grimmjow had been talking about.

Frankly, he'd forgotten all about it: had he remembered, he would have made sure that it had been covered up or scribbled over or tucked away out of sight and definitely out of mind by the time Grimmjow came over, because it was decidedly un-cool. In fact, it was a pretty womanly thing to do: he remembered that Ishida had leant over at the end of the lesson and had almost seen it but for Ichigo's arm blocking the way. He had been incredibly relieved, because he knew that the bastard would have mocked him until the end of time for that particular slip.

Doodled on the back of his notebook, subconsciously done whilst he was zoning out of a particularly boring politics lesson, was a six. Not just any six, that would have been a little more excusable: no, it was a six drawn in the exact same style as the tattoo on Grimmjow, in thick black ink.

With a tiny, but very obvious, heart drawn next to it.

In retrospect, maybe he should have just burnt the notebook straight out.

"You been thinking about me when you should be learning that bullshit work of yours?"

"Oh, hell no."

Grimmjow stood up, prowling across the room, for all the world looking like a predatorily advancing cat, the definitions of his body standing out in shadowed and sharp relief in the half-light afforded by the small desk lamp and the orange of the street lights that still tried their hardest to illuminate the empty, three am streets.

Ichigo rolled over onto his front hiding his face in his pillow, trying to convince himself that this was all some sort of horrific dream that he would manage to escape if only he tried very hard.

A weight settled on his thighs, as Grimmjow sat over him, running a palm over the part of Ichigo's lower back where his tattoo was on his own body.

"You been thinking about getting one to match me, huh?"

"Fuck off!"

Grimmjow pinched his leg for that. To Ichigo's annoyance, he did not wake up. He had sort of been hoping that it had been a nightmare. This tack obviously not working, he tried instead for being incredibly condescending.

"I am not getting your tattoo, Grimmjow. Now, if you don't mind, I am trying to sleep."

To his horror, he felt Grimmjow's finger begin to trace the number against his skin, dragging the nail softly to make him shiver. His protests being ignored, he tried to wriggle out from underneath the heavy body on top of him, but stilled when he felt the tip of a pen run against his skin, it's thick nib a strange, damp sensation against his body.

"There. Looks good, doesn't it?"

Ichigo sighed, more from the touches skittering their way up and down his sides now than from annoyance, and craned over his shoulder to observe the matching six that Grimmjow had drawn on his lower back with a marker pen. It was slightly lop-sided and a bit had smudged, but he couldn't quite bring himself to stop feeling so inordinately happy at the sight of it.

Grimmjow's hand ran through his hair.

"Shut up, Grimmjow."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

I'd like to thank everyone who answered my question on the last chapter: this one was late in posting as I wanted to hear what everyone had to say before rushing into a decision. The general feeling is that people want to read more, and that I have left too many things loose in the air that people are curious about: and that's fair enough, it was an intentional thing, and leaving it now would be messy.

However. I also feel like 'Markings' has run its course. It has already gone far further than I thought it would: the original concept for it was only a three-shot. And I am actually quite happy with how it has gone, and I don't want to ruin that by pushing it further. It's sort of time for a new edge. And so, to those who said that it would be better to end it, here it is: the final instalment.

_Hey yeah, welcome to the real world;  
__Nobody told you it was gonna be hard  
__You said, hey yeah, I can't believe it:  
__I've barely started now I'm falling apart  
__But it's hard, standing at the crossroads,  
__And having all the answers,  
__Never helped me out, no  
- _Rob Thomas

Urahara sat around a low table in one of the many rooms annexed to his bedroom in the labyrinthine sprawl of buildings surrounding his shop. The rooms were dark and musty, blinds pulled shut and furniture battered and dark. Rays of slatted evening light made golden bars across the people around the table. He had a hand of cards in front of him, in the hand that normally contained the fan that irritated most of the people who knew him. He was pretty sure that he had the winning hand out of the group: but then, they had some of the best poker faces that he had ever played against, so he couldn't be sure.

Shinji sat cross-legged next to him, peaked cap pulled down low over his eyes to try and hide the gleam that always gave him away when he played.

"Say, Shinji? How is Ichigo's training coming along?"

The blonde man shrugged, eyes not leaving the cards.

"Don't ask me. I only got back today. Not seen him in weeks."

That seemed to catch Kensei's attention. He glanced over with his customary frown, hair messed up from training.

"So you mean you don't know about Kurosaki's little visitor?"

There was a general unimpressed muttering and eye-rolling from the assembled people, which finally brought Shinji's attention back from his abysmal cards. He glanced around them, and wondered what this news was that was causing such problems and worried expressions from people that were normally so inanely cheerful or else unconcerned about other people's lives. The only person who looked even faintly amused was Lisa, who kept throwing smirks to the pile of magazines by her side. The magazines that had pictures of men making out on the covers. The ones she rarely went anywhere without.

Shinji sighed as Tessai laid down his cards. He'd definitely lost his money tonight.

"Go on then, I can tell you're all dying to tell me what Ichigo's got up to."

More looks were exchanged around the table, and a deep rumbling laugh came from the cat curled up next to Urahara, head resting on his knee and yellow eyes bright with amusement. They still considered it a little bit unfair when Yoruichi sat in, as they were all sure she somehow cheated, although they had never been able to figure out how. Those suspicions were only further deepened when he threw his own cards down, revealing a good hand that just about beat Tessai's.

"Ichigo's caught himself a beau."

"What?"

Shinji goggled, half-grinning in bemusement. After a moment, though, he realised that no one else looked particularly amused.

"What's wrong?"

Kensei made a grunting sound of annoyance, and stared awkwardly away, obviously not comfortable with this conversation. The others, too, seemed unwilling to share this latest peice of news, and Shinji was still waiting for a response a moment later. It seemed that any revaltaion would be a long coming. He thought, and it took him a little time, but soon enough it clicked. Highly trained former-shinigami. Ichigo. Worried expressions.

"Wait… not the Vasto Lorde we were all so concerned about?"

"It isn't a Vasto Lorde."

The table turned to a person who hadn't spoken yet, the one person who perhaps had the most right to talk on the subject of Ichigo Kurosaki's life outside of battle.

"It's an Espada, or at least it used to be. You know him, Hirako- you fought him once. The one with the blue hair and the bad attitude. Sexta."

Shinji's frowned widened as he remembered that Ichigo had been there: and if he remembered the reports as well as he thought he did, he was pretty sure that Ichigo had fought him other times, as well as apparently only nearly killing him when he was in Hueco Mundo. Some babe that he had never spoken to through-out the war might have been a little more understandable, but Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?

"Why the hell has no-one done anything?"

Urahara tipped his hat over his eyes, hiding his expression from everyone but Yoruichi. From her vantage point, she could see that, for once, not even Kisuke was entirely sure what the best thing to do in this situation was. It was incredibly rare for him to be divided on any subject, and the fact that he was said a lot about the confusion of Ichigo's life. She sighed to herself, wondering when someone was going to take control of the situation and actually _say_ something to the damn kid. As it was going at the moment, she was pretty sure that it wouldn't be long before the ever-watchful Soul Society took an interest.

Damn it all, but she could feel the changing flux of reiatsu from _here_.

"Ichigo's got it under control."

"Are you freaking kidding me? We're trusting him to sort this out, when he's so clearly lost sight of what is important?"

Kensei's voice was not particularly raised any more than normal: it was tinged with disbelief, but before he could say anymore on the subject he was cut off by the person who had described Grimmjow to Shinji. His own hand he placed face-down on the table: he never had been very good at cards. Lisa smirked, besides him, as the deep voice of the speaker washed over them.

"Yes, we are."

There was a complete calm in Isshin's voice: there was no thread of the uncertainty that Yoruichi could still see in the set of Kisuke's jaw. He was a man that had put his utmost trust in his son, and was not about to see that belittled.

"I have faith in him."

Yoruichi nodded, slowly: Kisuke's hand fell to her back, stroking her fur briefly. They both knew, perhaps a little better than his father, just how quickly Ichigo could throw himself into situations that needed a little more consideration and careful thought. Around the table, people seemed to be reaching a similar conclusion, and though it was Shinji who eventually voiced it, it was obvious that everyone was thinking along the same lines.

"It's never going to last, you know that?"

Tessai nodded, breaking his customary silence with his low and melodic tone and gnomic wisdom.

"People are going to find out."

Shinji rubbed at his eyes, wishing that he had slept before coming here. Tiredness was catching up on him, and this conversation was not helping, even slightly.

"They're clearly not being sensible."

It was Lisa who jumped to his defence rather than Isshin, but even she did not sound completely sure on the matter. Her own hand, she knew, was good enough to beat Kisuke's, but she was trying to delay in the hope that the other's would go first.

"They're trying."

"They need to try harder!"

Shinji threw down his own hand almost a little petulantly, face-down and with enough force for them to slide halfway across the table. Lisa, feeling victory was near, placed her own down with a neat smugness, the sort that would normally have pissed Kensei off enough to yell at her. Not today, though: he was too engrossed in the conversation at hand, watching Shinji with interest as he whirled on Isshin, the only person left on the table who had not shown his cards yet.

"Have you talked to him about the implications of this?"

The elder Kurosaki shook his head.

"He hasn't told me about it yet."

"Then how do you know?"

"He's spending most of his time in my house: do you honestly believe that I wouldn't notice?"

Shinji shook his head, and tried to regain something of his composure.

"Isshin, are you not concerned that he hasn't told you about it?"

Isshin threw down his cards, smirking as the rest of the table groaned in annoyance at his perfect hand, most of them almost forgetting the seriousness of the conversation when they realised that they hadn't won. He scooped up the poker chips that had amassed in the middle of the table, and caught Urahara's eye. There was faint concern underneath that brimmed hat, concern that was not exactly unfounded.

"He'll tell me when he's good and ready to. And for now, I trust my son's judgement."

For the briefest of moments, despite Isshin's firmness, Urahara could hear the faint traces of uncertainty.

* * *

Things had returned to something as close to normal as it ever was going to get for Ichigo. From the day the first shinigami had appeared into his life, it was fated that he could never just be the normal human boy that he had always thought that he was. It was not for him, the life of simple concerns like homework and exams and future professions. No, his concern had to lie with the balance of peace between three worlds, not to mention the secret companion that a fair few of his friends were supposed to kill on sight, if they ever came across him.

As well as homework. Life was a bitch.

Ichigo rested his head on his algebra book, and sighed to himself, wishing that the teacher would just be quiet and leave maths alone.

Coming back to Karakura had been as much of a wake-up call as he had suspected that it would, and even though he had known that it would be hard he still found himself thrown by the sheer amount of effort involved in keeping a relationship (even if it was as vague and unspoken as theirs) working. Not only did he have to make sure that Grimmjow wouldn't draw any attention to himself- and though the former-Espada knew the consequences of being discovered that still did not manage to overcome his natural temperament and inclination to destruction- he also had to avoid Ishida's pointed looks and the chirpy-but-worried inquiries of Inoue, who was vaguely aware that something was going on but wasn't quite able to put her finger on what it was just yet.

His family, too, were being a little difficult to manage. They had all noticed Ichigo's foul temperament before he had gone after Grimmjow (although, hopefully, they didn't know for sure just where he had gone or who after) and had also picked up on the fact that he seemed to be a lot happier now. The only problem was, each of them took a different and highly diverse route to examining this happiness. Yuzu kept baking confectionaries and trying to invite Ichigo into her confidence, something that Ichigo was just _not_ comfortable with: having talks about your new, gay lover with your baby sister was just not what you need in life.

Karin, if anything, was being even more difficult: determined to find the source of this incredible change in mood, she had taken to asking him incredibly invasive questions that left him blushing, all delivered in her normal, monotone voice. In fairness though, his father had not changed- it was just that he was always a chore.

Only Chad, it seemed, was immune to the contentious issue of just-what-Ichigo-did-in-Hueco-Mundo-with-that-person-who-should-not-be-named. Things went on just as normal with his friend: they ate lunch together in companionable silences and hung out when they could. Ichigo was sure that his friend must have been a little curious, but since he had no inclination to share and it appeared Chad had no inclination to ask, then it looked as if it would remain and unspoken thing between them, as many matters of importance did.

The class ended, but he stayed seated at people began to stand up and pack away.

"Ichigoooo!"

He sighed, and ducked out of the way of Keigo's flaying arms.

"Ichigo! Why won't you talk to me anymore? You sit there with such a sad expression: you should open up to your dearest friends and-"

Keigo continued to blather on, unaware that he was being totally ignored. However, after a moment or two something that his classmate said got through to him, and he looked up from his discarded work.

"Ichigo, what the hell has been wrong with you these last few months?"

"What do you mean?"

"You go from being normal to being happier to being a bastard and now you're better again: Ichigo, tell me your problems, then we can fight them together and become men who discuss and rationalise rather than sulk and be so very happy!"

All this was delivered with Keigo's usual glaze of delusion, and Ichigo sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Also, what the hell is that on your back?"

That caught his attention once more: it also caused the rest of his friends to look over. Tatsuki, who sat behind him, leant forward, and poked him in the contested spot.

"Yeah, you can see something through your shirt. What is it, a tattoo?"

Keigo wailed.

"Have you joined a street gang, Ichigo? A satanic cult? A-"

"It's nothing like that, idiot. Someone just drew something there, that's all."

Ichigo cursed Grimmjow in his head for this awkward situation. The pen that Grimmjow had used to draw that six on seemed to be impossible to remove: he scrubbed at it each day as best he could in the shower but it showed no change: in fact, if anything, it seemed to be brighter and more lustrous each time he woke up. What he didn't know was that, since he slept on his front, he gave Grimmjow the perfect chance to draw over it again and again each night he was there, to make sure that it didn't fade away.

"Who?"

He looked ut and Mizuiro, and shrugged. But he couldn't get away with his standard evasiveness as well as normal with this particular friend: he narrowed his eyes at Ichigo and shot him an expression of sheer scepticism. Ichigo rolled his eyes, and stood up.

"I'm going to get some lunch. Anyone interested?"

He left the classroom and headed for the roof. Soon it would get too cold to sit there at all, and it was already a chilly seat, but he liked it up there. The only person that would bother to follow him up there was Chad, and he was not exactly taxing company.

Ichigo knew that at some point he was going to have to stop evading the question of Grimmjow to his friends, or at least work out a way to become much more subtle at doing it. But he just couldn't shake the conviction that there was no way that any of them could understand: maybe he was being unfair, but he was sure that they could never see that the fine line between where he stood and where Grimmjow was placed was a lot easier to cross than anyone had thought. And after all, they hadn't judged him for befriending the Vizard, who had been just as much of an enemy to the state at the time as Grimmjow was now.

Yeah, he knew it wasn't quite the same, but it was the best he could do in terms of justification that didn't involve discussing his immediate feelings for Grimmjow.

His head hit the roof as he lay back and basked in the cool, early September sunlight.

For now, he was just going to have to keep on going on a wing and a prayer.

* * *

Grimmjow stared at himself in the mirror, and wondered what the hell had happened in his life that meant that he deserved this sort of punishment.

You know, aside from the whole fighting-and-gloating thing he had going on.

And maybe the killing, too.

But seriously, he didn't deserve to be in this situation. _No-one _deserved to be in this situation- and he still wasn't quite sure how he had ended up here. Not too long ago he had been a member of Aizen's elite Espada- perhaps not in the highest position but damn well good enough to kick the ass of pretty much everyone that he came across. He'd been, if not happy, then alright with where he was, and besides, it was the best that he had ever known. His world had been unshakable and his confidence undeniable, but now here he was- stuck in the human world, and listening to some really, _really _annoying woman laugh loudly at the fact that Ichigo was naked and flustered and blushing.

She didn't even seem slightly concerned by the fact that Grimmjow was also naked, only looking a sight more dignified as he reclined on the bed, watching Ichigo clutch cushions and blankets to himself in an effort to disguise himself.

And even if the woman was hot- and my God, she was- that really didn't make up for the fact that she interrupted something that should never be interrupted.

Especially not when he was as sexually frustrated as he was now- because regardless of the fact that he should have been a little bit more worried that the woman had seen him, one of the last in the list of Soul Society Public Enemies list, he couldn't help but still be too damn turned on by the sight of naked-Ichigo.

Grimmjow wondered if killing her would be an appropriate measure, and whether or not Ichigo would still be willing to screw if there was blood on the carpet.

He decided no, in the end, that Ichigo probably would get a bit pissy about it.

His fists tightened on the sheets as the woman grabbed hold of Ichigo, hugging him and cooing at how cute he was when he was all embarrassed. It was an obvious act to make him feel uncomfortable, but it was clearly working: Ichigo's face was going even redder, although Grimmjow wasn't unconvinced that it wasn't just proximity to breasts that was making Ichigo stutter like that.

Eventually the woman seemed to get bored with this line of awkwardness, and turned to face Grimmjow, sticking a hand out for him to shake.

He took it gingerly, more than a little suspicious of her motives.

"You can call me Yoruichi, Grimmjow."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Like the cat?"

"How the hell do you know about the cat?"

Ichigo was staring at him as well now, wide-eyed and looking a little bit pissed off now that her attentions had been turned elsewhere. In fairness, maybe he should have told Ichigo that he had met more that a few people on his recent late-night intervals, when he was apart from Ichigo. He wasn't quite sure how they were doing it, but people who didn't particularly like him but had no reason to kill him just seemed to have an uncanny ability at turning up where they were not supposed to be.

Well, when he said people, he meant that freak with the hat, but he was strange enough for four.

Grimmjow just shrugged in response, smirking as he watched Ichigo struggle on with jeans that were half-way inside-out that had been discarded on the floor earlier.

Yoruichi was still shaking his hand, but all of a sudden Grimmjow could see that there was a lot more to this woman than a smokin' body and the ability to turn a situation from hot to awkward in thirty seconds. There was a sharpness in those eyes, something that spoke of a lot of power and a lot of experience. He wondered who she was, and where she had learnt to disguise _what_ she was with such ease and ability- and he wasn't just talking about the cat-thing. There was a power in her, now that he focused in and tried to read it, something thrumming underneath her skin but that had been utterly undetectable to him before.

He resisted the urge to shake his head. And here he was, thinking that he had gotten good at hiding his power. It looked like he still had a hell of a lot to learn compared to this woman.

"Who are you?"

She smiled again, and it was brighter.

"That doesn't really matter, does it? What does matter is you two keeping a better eye out, ne? You're not very good at keeping things inconspicuous, it seems."

"The hell does that mean?"

She turned to Ichigo, and there was a note of incredulity in her voice as she spoke.

"Don't be an idiot, Ichigo. Don't think that you have gotten away with this just yet. You need to be more careful."

With that final line she was gone, faster than either of them could see, out of the window.

* * *

Grimmjow lay, awake, and watched the way that Ichigo's face moved when his mouth slept, forehead pulled into a scowl and fingers tapping on his own chest in irritation at himself. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but feel irrationally annoyed that in the time he got to spend with Ichigo, he was generally half-asleep and falling deeper, if not completely comatose in the bed. Grimmjow understood that the day was an impossibility: between the damn school thing and Ichigo's overbearing family and friends he barely had any free time at all- and besides, Grimmjow didn't want to spend all hours of the day together, no matter how comfortable they were beginning to grow in each others' company.

And considering that Ichigo needed a hell of a lot more sleep than he himself did, Grimmjow knew that it made sense that Ichigo would have to rest at some point of the night.

Still, it was annoying.

His zanpakuto was prowling in his mind: he could tell that she had something to say, but was trying his hardest to avoid the conversation. From experience, it was generally worse off for him when he tried to avoid inevitable conversations, but that still didn't stop him from trying to do so. Pantera had the annoying habit of always being right, and he had been forced to accept a while ago that she was the more sensible out of the two of them, but that still didn't mean that he wanted to hear it.

"Grimmjow, you're going to have to tell him at some point, you know?"

He shook his head, as if that would deter the voice of his zanpakuto, slightly chiding and more than a little concerned. Rolling onto his front, shoulder to shoulder with Ichigo, he buried his face into a pillow and gritted his teeth.

"You cannot go on evading it forever. Besides, he is going to find out sooner or later, isn't he?"

There was no response for the longest of moments. Eventually Grimmjow raised himself up again on his elbows, hanging his head as he communed with the spirit. He knew that what she said was right, but that didn't mean the thought of telling Ichigo what he had left behind him in Hueco Mundo was any easier. Grimmjow sighed, an uncharacteristically soft noise as he rubbed the flat of his palm across his eyes.

"You can't even be sure that what the runt said is true: bastards have said more interesting things on the wrong end of a sword before. Just because those Arrancar idiots said that they were out there doesn't mean that they _are_."

"Yes, but I can tell- there is a part of you that wonders. And a part of you suspects that they are."

"Even if they are, they'll be nothing compared to the Espada, or even the Arrancar that the bastard created. They're nothing, a weak substitute. You know that."

"I do. And so do you. But that still doesn't explain why you can't stop thinking about it."

Grimmjow didn't reply, and in his head Pantera licked her paw, an unusually smug gesture that she only reserved for when she broke through to Grimmjow at his most stubborn.

"Do you think it is just because you are a little… bored, Grimmjow?"

His voice came out loud, though he hadn't meant it to escape the confines of his mind. It was only a whisper, his eyes screwed tightly shut, but had Ichigo heard it he would have hesitated at that pause, at that strange tone of voice.

"Shut up."

He felt tired, all of a sudden: as if reassuring himself, he spoke again, in a firmer tone.

"It'll be nothing."

"Very well, Grimmjow. If you are sure."

He wasn't sure. He could never be sure.

They were threatened from all sides, he could see that. He had been weighing it up since they had come back, and there wasn't an angle from which there wasn't danger. Ichigo's family, the Soul Society, the Vizard, his friends in Karakura who knew about this shit. And then, on the other side, Hueco Mundo, and the hollows that would no doubt flock to Karakura if they realised that he was here.

There was no safety net.

As if sensing that Grimmjow was ill at ease Ichigo shifted in his sleep, half-turning so that his face was visible, pale with sleep and the small amount of light afforded by the moon that shone through a cloudless night.

Grimmjow touched the place of Ichigo's cheek that was permanently red now, still not that much more than a small graze that bled on occasion where his mask rubbed too hard. He was still hoping that it would scar over, but he never gave it long enough to heal to be sure: too soon, he found that he had pressing once more. Just another mark between two bodies with enough scar tissue for two.

Ichigo's eyes flickered, a light enough sleeper to wake even from that small touch. He stared sleepily up at Grimmjow, and then squeezed his eyes tightly together again, trying to wake up.

"Wha' time is it?"

Grimmjow shrugged, not bothering to turn over to check the clock for him.

"Early. Late. Whichever way you wanna look at it."

"Useful."

Ichigo pressed his body against Grimmjow's, stretching out as their skin met.

"Did you sleep?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes at him.

"Dumb question."

Ichigo didn't reply, just buried his face into Grimmjow's chest, still half-asleep and as out-of-character sweet as he ever could be in these never-discussed moments. Hesitant, still a little unsure of himself in this department (and did he ever hate that when it was just the two of them, sometimes he reverted back to some uncertain thing, ignorant in this new language he was expected to know) Grimmjow reached out and placed a hand against the small of Ichigo's back, making sure that he wouldn't move away.

There was a moment of peace.

Then, the spell was broken.

There was a roar of a hollow from the distance, breaking the cocoon of warmth and silence that surrounded them, ruining the spell of the moment and dragging Ichigo back to reality and wakefulness as effectively as cold water would have done. He dragged himself from bed and searched out the dispenser full of the small, sweet tasting pills that would remove his soul from his body but even as he stood there, knowing that he had to leave, there was an aching part of him that wanted to stay.

But he had already stepped out of their moment in their own, private world, and there was no way to get back into it as long as duty reared its ugly head from across his hometown, howling out its threatening eulogy to chaos.

Alone in the bed now, Grimmjow didn't look over at him. When he spoke it was a little deeper than normal, almost a little gruff.

"There is something out there, y'know."

Ichigo sighed, and nodded.

"I know. I've got to go- I'm on watch tonight. You gonna wait here?"

Grimmjow didn't answer, just stretched out a little further on the bed and closed his eyes, even though it was patently obvious that he was not sleeping. There was just the faintest of touches on the small of his back, and then a cold breeze as the window was pushed open, and Ichigo stepped through.

Ichigo heard the noise of the damned hollow in the air once more, crackling around him like electric tension, and sighed.

The real world had caught them up again tonight.

He supposed it always would do.

**THE END**

Nah, I kid. This isn't the real end- the prologue of the sequel is getting posted right after this on my profile. 'Playing with Fire' is just waiting for you to come and find…

I'd love to see some of the regulars reviewing the first chapters, all the lovely people who I have not given enough credit to who tell me every update just what they want. Thank you so much to all of you who have dedicated time to this, and thank you as well to everyone who reviewed, alerted or made this a favourite. It's meant the world to me. There are too many people that I need to thank- just know that I am incredibly grateful to you all.

Peace out.


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